The Sound of Music Chronicles Part I
by Shahrazad63
Summary: My version of TSOM, from the very beginning... Part I is a rewriting of two previous stories of mine, starting before the movie credits and ending with the rowboat incident. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**PLEASE READ THIS FIRST:**

**Although there is new material included, this is NOT a new story. **

It is a re-writing of "The Twelfth Governess" and "The Baroness and the Pine Cone". Chapters were revised and expanded, a few new ones were included.

The plan is to organize all my stories, placing them in the right order and getting rid of most inconsistencies. This is where the fun begins If I ever finish it – and I hope I will – "The TSOM Chronicles" will have at least 6 parts and will cover most of the movie up to the Paris honeymoon, going a bit AU after that. "The Twelfth Governess" will only be the first one, and will have 41 chapters. They are all ready to be published, so you should expect a new one almost daily.

**Reviews and/or positive criticism are appreciated. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own "The Sound of Music", "Die Trapp Familie", "Die Trapp Familie in Amerika" or any of the works in which I based my stories. I write them for fun only, as an exercise in creative writing. _This is a work of fiction,_ based upon the movie characters. Names and events related to the real story are used only to fill some blanks in the story, no offense is intended.

**Acknowledgements:**

Several people helped me, and are still helping me with those stories, specially my friends from "The Sound of Music Fan Fiction Forum" which was sadly taken offline against our will.

Mellie D. betaed several chapters in Part I. Although she is not part of the fandom anymore, and although the story has changed since that time, some of her great ideas still remain. Max ("maxisback")´s help was also invaluable, particularly in some research that was needed in this first part of the story.

**The usual final WARNING/REQUEST:**

English is not my first language, so please be gentle. I´m really trying to do my best here. If you have any comments about my funny grammar or my spelling errors, please send me a private message.

**Enough. I will try to be quiet for the next 40 chapters.**

**HAVE FUN!**

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I **

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 01**

_**Georg**_

_**ooo**_

"_**I sometimes hold it half a sin  
>To put in words the grief I feel;<br>For words, like Nature, half reveal  
>And half conceal the Soul within.<br>But, for the unquiet heart and brain,  
>A use in measured language lies;<br>The sad mechanic exercise,  
>Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.<br>In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,  
>Like coarsest clothes against the cold;<br>But that large grief which these enfold  
>Is given in outline and no more."<strong>_

_**Alfred Lord Tennyson**_

_**ooo**_

**"_He rides in the row at ten o clock in the morning, goes to the Opera three times a week, changes his clothes at least five times a day, and dines out every night of the season. You don't call that leading an idle life, do you?"_**

**_Oscar Wilde, 1856-1900, An Ideal Husband (1895)_**

**_ooo_**

"_**Decorations were decorations, but the Knight´s Cross of the Military Order of Maria Theresa was something else altogether: the highest military honour that old Austria had to bestow. Like your Victoria Cross, it was an insignificant-looking thing. But unlike your Victoria Cross it was handed out in the tiniest numbers – no more than seventy or so in the entire World War, I believe. To become a Maria-Theresien Ritter was the ultimate, golden dream of every cadet at every military academy in the Danubian Monarchy, a distinction far more alluring than becoming a Field Marshall or Chief of the Naval Staff.**_**"**

**John Biggins, "**_**A Sailor of Austria".**_

_**ooo**_

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife_." (1)

Jane Austen had been entirely wrong on all accounts.

Captain Georg Rittervon Trapp was a widower in possession of a sizeable fortune, but he was most definitely _not_ in want of a wife. The fact that he might _need_ a wife at this point in his life was utterly irrelevant – wanting and needing were different things entirely. Furthermore, he had a wife once, and now she was gone. Several years after her death, he still felt that no one could ever replace her both as a companion and as a lover. To him, it was useless even to try; he didn't want to go through all the heartache again. Half of him died with her, but he had a number of reasons why he was unwilling to sacrifice his other half. Seven reasons, as a matter of fact: the seven children she had given him.

Unlike most society matches, his first marriage had been, above all, a love match. It had been one of the few veritable cases of love at first sight recorded in the history of Austrian aristocracy. To make it more unique, their "_happily ever after_" lasted for nearly twenty years. It had been the quintessential perfect marriage, of the kind that every other soul that has the tiniest bit of romanticism in it wishes for, sometimes secretly.

He had just been offered the command of the SMU-6, the submarine recently acquired by the Austrian Imperial Navy. On a sunny day, nearly twenty years earlier, the boat was being christened, at the naval base in Fiume. It was no small occasion, since among the guests there was none other than John Whitehead, the son of the late Robert Whitehead, whose shipyard had manufactured the submarine. The Whitehead family name had become a legend in the Navy, ever since Robert had developed the first self-propelled torpedo in 1866. The honor of christening the boat would be given to John's twenty year old daughter, Miss Agathe Whitehead.

When the petite English heiress broke a bottle of champagne, christening his first submarine, Georg von Trapp lost his very first battle in life. The arrogant young who liked to boast that the woman who made him behave like a lovesick fool had yet to be born, found himself madly, irrevocably in love for the first time in his life. Fortunately for him, the other possible rivals to Miss Whitehead´s affections knew too well that he could be the most formidable opponent and stepped aside as soon as they realized that he was serious about courting her. Victory was easier than he expected at first, but it was also sweet, if nothing else because the instant, mad attraction had also been mutual. Agathe too had been pierced by Cupid´s arrow.

Georg von Trapp was known in those days as the heir to a distinguished family of seafaring men, with a brilliant career ahead of him as a naval officer (2). His father had been knighted by Emperor Franz Joseph after he succeeded in bringing the ship he commanded, one of the most prized possessions of the Austrian Navy, safely back to land after a ferocious storm. The title was hereditary, and passed down to his children, who earned the right to add coveted the "_von_" to their names.

However, Georg was destined to go farther than his father could ever dream possible. He was only 14 when he was faced with the most important decision of his life so far: to join the Naval Academy at Fiume of the prestigious University of Music in Vienna. It was not a difficult choice: as much as he loved music, the boy had sea water in his veins and opted for the Navy. His father and several generations of von Trapps sighed in relief. His ascension in the Navy was swift, he was the youngest of his graduating class to achieve the rank of captain. He went from commanding cruisers to battleships, then torpedo and destroyer flotillas, and, finally, submarines. And in the meantime, he found the time to get his license as an aviator. To those who knew him, there was no limit to what the man could do.

But Georg von Trapp had more than simply a prestigious family name behind and a bright future ahead in his favor. He had everything else a man could possibly need to succeed. Tall and dangerously handsome, he was also blessed with a devilishly cunning mind, his intelligence well above the average of his peers. The combination was explosive. Perhaps because of it, he excelled in everything he attempted to do, a reason why many of those who disliked him thought him to be an insufferable snob. Apart from that certain natural arrogance that came with his upper class upbringing and the successes in his career, he was never the kind of man who liked or needed to boast about his feats, all he had to do was simply say the truth. It was impressive enough.

A daredevil at sea, a rake in dry land…

As one would expect, women were attracted to him like moths to a flame, and in his youth he took full advantage of the fact. Yet, he was never as promiscuous as one would have expected, he selected the women he bedded with the same care with he chose the wine he drank in his moments of leisure, never allowing his dalliances to damage his reputation or his career in the Navy. But that did not keep him from viewing women as most young wealthy men of his generation did: there were women who were meant to become wives and there were women who were meant to become lovers. Love and lust could never walk together, and the same could be said about love and marriage.

Unwilling to commit himself to marriage at least until he reached his thirtieth year, and enjoying the life of a bachelor too much, Georg stayed clear of the marriageable ones, and threw himself eagerly in the arms of the others. While enjoying the life of a sensualist whenever his work allowed him, he took pride in his self-discipline because his heart remained unscathed. He firmly believed that he would ever be romantically affected by any of his lovers, that no woman on earth would ever distract him from his true love: the sea. Romantic love was something that belonged to the pages of a novel, it was unthinkable outside of it. It was nothing but a beautiful, poetic idea, but in real life it was both unrealistic and unpractical, a distraction that he could not afford. The silly notions his paternal grandmother had once tried, in vain, to talk him into – about marrying for love and not for the sake of convenience - became nothing but a memory soon after he had his first sexual experiences.

At least until the day Miss Agathe Whitehead crashed a bottle of champagne in his SMU-6…

The walls he had built around himself, shielding him from the distraction of romantic love crumbled, as if hit with scorching precision by one of her grandfather´s torpedoes.

Surprisingly, he welcomed the experience. The intense feeling took him by storm, he never tried to resist it. Agathe Whitehead had been a welcome change in his life, a breath of fresh air he badly needed. No woman had ever challenged him like that before, and without even trying. Yet, the petite British heiress barged into his life to challenge everything he was brought up to believe in. Finally his grandmother´s advice began to make sense, and in a way he would never have thought possible.

However, Agathe was unlike the women he had courted before. She was a young lady with an impeccable upbringing, coming from a family with a spotless reputation – precisely the kind he had avoided like the plague during all his adult life. She was, as her mother and father loved to boast, simply born to be the wife of a wealthy aristocrat, having been prepared for the cradle precisely for that role. He decided that he would be that man.

Courting her was a challenge, not only because he had to resort to tactics he had never used before. She bravely resisted at first, although it was obvious to him that she was clearly attracted to him as well. How could a young naval captain, who had just been assigned to command his first submarine say or do to make an impression to a girl whose grandfather had invented the torpedo? A girl who came from a naval family as illustrious as his, who had been brought up surrounded by men who were not so different from him? Her parents were equally unimpressed at first, particularly her mother, who always dreamed of her only daughter marrying a nobleman, not the son of a mere knight.

But Georg von Trapp was too proud, too stubborn to back down from a challenge. He would step aside gracefully if Agathe showed no interest in him at all, but one dance with her had convinced him that it wasn´t the case. He immediately realized what the obstacles would be and designed the perfect course of action. The cunning strategist that he was had never failed before, and he would not fail now. Challenged, he began the hard task to prove all of them wrong, that he could be a husband worthy of her family name. Each and every one of the initial reservations of the Whitehead family were, one by one, dismissed and taken care of, and very quickly. Not only that, he managed to convince them all that their union would be not only convenient to both families involved, it would be an ideal one. The heir to Austria´s most notorious naval clan marrying the heiress to a British famous for the same reason… It was the perfect match. Cleverly, he chose never to stress the fact that he loved his bride – if not to him, to them it would be completely irrelevant.

In the words of Julius Caesar: "_Veni, vidi, vinci."_ Georg von Trapp came, saw and conquered. Agathe Whitehead was his, and he was hers. The rake had been forever reformed, or so it seemed. Overnight, the dashing young naval officer had become a respectable family man, entirely devoted to his wife. And he was looking forward to every moment of it!

Theirs was a perfect, fairy tale wedding at the _Stephansdom_ in Vienna, with the cream of high society in attendance. The honeymoon, unfortunately, had to be postponed: duty called him and, two days later he left for a mission at sea. This would set a pattern for the near future: in the first five or six years, he did not spend more than a total of sixty days with his wife. Notably, his marriage did not suffer – quite the contrary, the love bond between him and Agathe seemed to grow stronger precisely because of that. Whenever he returned, it was like meeting her for the first time again, their passion was renewed.

There were too obvious consequences to Georg´s dedication to his country and his wife…

The first one happened when, risking his life and the life of his crew, his submarine made a spectacular underwater launch at a French Battleship that was considered the crown jewel of the enemy´s fleet_._ The ship sunk to the bottom of the Adriatic, and the feat earned him the Imperial Navy´s most coveted decoration, the Maria Theresien Cross, with the rights and privileges of the title of "Baron".

The second one was a rather obvious result. His long absences also did not keep them from producing a very impressive offspring.

When he returned after a few months after his first mission after the wedding, Agathe was already pregnant with their first child. The honeymoon had to be further delayed until months after Elizabeth – or Liesl, as she would always be affectionately called - was born. Six more children would follow, and in nine years, he fathered seven children.

It never occurred to Georg or his wife to do anything to prevent any of the pregnancies. Although he never had any strong religious convictions, Agathe was a devout Catholic. Avoiding children was, to her, something utterly unthinkable, under any circumstances. Georg did not quite share her beliefs, but he soon learned that if there was something he loved more than Agathe was to be a father. The children made not only Agathe happy and kept her company during his long absences at sea, they made him happy as well. For the first time in his life he felt he had a closely knit family, because his own family, as illustrious as it had been, could be called anything but _loving_.

But there should have been more than seven von Trapp children. He should have been an Admiral by now, instead of a mere Captain. Austria should still have a coastline, he should still have his Navy and his warships to command… and Agathe should still be alive.

The fairy tale ended cruelly and abruptly. _Five years –_ it was all it took for everything to crumble. Everything – his personal life, his naval career. He was helpless against it all, utterly unable to do anything to avoid the succession of tragedies that followed…

The most brilliant military strategist could not win a war alone. Wealth and nobility meant nothing, a mere mortal was powerless against the inevitability of death.

Austria succumbed to the same war that earned him the title of Baron along with the most coveted decoration of the Empire, the Maria-Theresien cross. A couple of years later, Agathe von Trapp lost her short but violent battle to scarlet fever, only days before her thirty-third birthday. Only by miracle, three of his children had survived the same epidemic. The eighth von Trapp child, the one she was expecting when she became ill, died in her womb. The loss of his career had devastated him, the loss of his love nearly killed him.

Nothing could have prepared him for the pain that followed. He had lost his mother when he was still an infant, his father was so distant that, when he died, grief had been fleeting. When his grandmother passed away, he was at sea and had not seen her for several years. Agathe was the closest human being he had ever lost to death – his wife, lover and friend, the mother of his children.

It was unbearable. So many feelings overcame him. Anger and guilt because he suddenly felt that it had all been for nothing. He had spent most of their married life away from her, fighting worthless battles. The country he loved and vowed to defend to death had crumbled. If he could only turn back time, if he only had stayed with Agathe instead of defending his country in a lost war, perhaps he would be able to do more for her and his children, she would not be so tired of caring for them all, she would be stronger and would not have succumbed to easily to that awful illness. He had known, from the start, that she was fragile. How could he abandon her for months at a time like that? It was bound to affect her health, and it finally did.

There was only one way to cope with that pain. In order to shield himself from it, in the months that followed his loss, he fiercely dedicated himself at shutting everythingand everyone out. If trying to forget was useless, he simply did not want to remember her. It hurt too much. All the sounds, sights, and smells of her were banished. He cleaned his surroundings of every single memory, locking her belongings in the attic, her photographs in his desk drawer. It all had proven to be useless, because she was still there, a little trace of her in every single one of his seven children. Her eyes were Friedrich's, her voice - Brigitta, her laughter – Louisa. Liesl, Kurt, Marta, and Gretl – her grace, mischievous sense of humor, shyness, and her child-like curiosity. He never knew when it would hit him, when he would look at a child and see her. He couldn't bear to see his dead wife in his children, so he shut them out, he shut them all out. He hid his wife in the attic; he hid behind his various trips around the world, leaving behind his children and memories of her.

The months passed, then one year. He went on living like that. It was only the shadow of a life, since most of the time he felt like a phantom, a walking corpse. He did everything he believed would stop the pain. He tried to drown his sorrows in too much wine when things became too hard to bear.

And, of course, there were the women.

It had taken about one year after his loss to acknowledge the need of a woman in the physical sense. His self loathing only increased, the feeling of guilt exploded. After the true beauty of the love between a man and a woman he and Agathe shared, how could he even _consider_ going back from a time in his life that he was no longer proud of, at least in that aspect? But in the crazy aftermath of his tragedies, it seemed that even his body had a will of his own and decided to rebel against his grief.

Was it the curse of having a passionate nature? – he wondered. Before his marriage, he never had any need to repress it. While his marriage lasted, it had been happy in all aspects, in the bedroom and outside of it. And now…

He began seeking women again, almost casually. In his sorry state, he did not even believe that he would be able to… function properly. Then one day he impulsively accepted a blatant invitation from a well known courtesan and a minor epiphany followed. After all, it was not so different from drinking. Physical release, then oblivion – that was precisely what he craved. A few moments of pleasure, during which he would simply… _not remember_. As for everything else – the guilt, the self-loathing – he could not possibly be feeling any worse, so why not seek atonement from time to time? So he tried to go back to a time in his past, when the Whitehead was hardly more than a name in a book about naval history, when he did not know that Agathe even existed. The result had been a series of very discreet affairs which he ended as soon as he realized that they would not provide the comforts he needed. Fortunately, experience had taught him to conduct such liaisons had been conducted with equally sophisticated and intelligent women, well aware of the rules of the game, and who would not demands more from him than what he was willing to give them.

However, this brief return to the old rakish lifestyle of his youth, was bound to leave him bitterly empty and unsatisfied emotionally. One just could not turn back time. Thanks to Agathe, he was no longer the same reckless libertine. If all he wanted was not to remember, even for a few moments, the supreme irony was that memory of Agathe was never stronger as it was just after he found physical release in the arms of those forgettable lovers.

No, he had no wish for another wife. No woman on earth could possibly be more than what Agathe had been to him. He already had every proof of that. It was something he knew while she still lived, but that his wife had been blissfully unaware of. Just hours before she died, she had tried to make him promise her that he would remarry. A promise he had refused to give her, simply because if such a woman existed, he would not risk it again – he would not survive the pain afterwards. If she existed, he would make no effort to find her. If she came to him instead, he would use all the strength that he possessed to shut her out, because, ultimately, he knew how it would end and what it would do to him.

However, there came the day when he was forced to acknowledge that, he needed to think of the seven children Agathe had left behind, for there was at least one thing in which his wife needed a replacement – as a _mother_. It took him too long to realize that very simple fact, and it had cost him too much already. No, he did _not_ want another wife, although, because of his children, he was now beginning to acknowledge the fact that he _needed_ one. And quite badly.

As a father, he was feeling completely lost, and utterly incompetent. If he was no longer able to love his children the way they deserved to be loved, he vowed that, at least, they would be properly educated. If this was the only compensation he could give them, so be it. Little Gretl had just turned five, but at sixteen Liesl was about to make her entrance in society. His eldest son, Friedrich, would soon be following her and at fifteen had already manifested his desire for a medical career, the prestigious University of Vienna being the most natural choice. At thirteen, Louisa was a little mischievous tomboy who needed the proper female guidance in a critical moment in any girl´s life. Brigitta – probably the cleverest of them all – constantly lost herself in her books, and needed to be nudged back to reality from time to time. The youngest – Kurt, Marta and Gretl – hardly had any strong memories of what a mother was, and he feared that such absences would have damaging effects in their adult life.

To no avail, he tried to tell himself that he was doing his best. When Agathe was alive, he was at sea so often that the task of disciplining the children had been almost entirely hers. Whenever he returned, all he wanted to do was to make up for the time he spent away. The warmth and love of his family was wonderfully chaotic, a startling contrast with the military discipline aboard his ships. It was all very loud and full of music, laughter could be heard from every corner of the house. Agathe shared his love and his talent for music, and they joked about the fact that they would have their own chamber orchestra when the children grew up.

He could bear the thought of it anymore.

The children, of course, resented him. As children often do, they rebelled. He loved them all dearly, but he had no clue about how to control them. However, his only source knowledge of discipline had been the Navy. It was all he had, because the alternative was unthinkable: the last thing he wanted was to apply the same antiquated rules that his parents had used on him. And so, with same military discipline he applied in his warships, he began to run his household. At first, it worked beautifully, perhaps because the children were too stunned to do anything else but to obey him. It was either that or because they were so eager to win back his affection that they would do anything that pleased him. As with everything else, it was a possibility that was too painful to be considered. But the military discipline kept his sons and daughters from talking, from laughing, from being his wife's children. And it kept him from remembering.

Does time heal all wounds? He did not know the answer to that yet, Probably not. Wine, women and song certainly did _not_, he already knew that for a fact.

He vowed that he would fix things, before it was too late; it was all he could to. He knew he had to make things right, before the lives of his children were hopelessly ruined because of his grief, because of his inability to guide them and love them the way they deserved to be loved.

But _finding a wife_… The task was harder than he could ever dream possible.

_A/N: (1) Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. (2) Georg´s biography is a cross between fiction and reality. I took some events from the real Georg von Trapp´s life, but a lot of what you will read here results from my own imagination, giving life to a fictional movie character. _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 02**

_**A truth universally acknowledged**_

_**ooo**_

"_**In all the famous love affairs  
>The lovers have to struggle.<br>In garret rooms away upstairs  
>The lovers starve and snuggle.<br>They're famous for misfortune which  
>They seem to have no fear of,<br>While lovers who are very rich  
>You very seldom hear of."<br>**_

_**Rodgers & Hammerstein, **_**How can love survive**_**?**_

_**ooo**_

"_**How great my grief, my joys how few,  
>Since first it was my fate to know thee!<br>- Have the slow years not brought to view  
>How great my grief, my joys how few,<br>Nor memory shaped old times anew,  
>Nor loving-kindness helped to show thee<br>How great my grief, my joys how few,  
>Since first it was my fate to know thee?"<strong>_

_**Thomas Hardy **_

_**ooo**_

"_**For God´s sake man, try to see it from my point of view: Austria wants her heroes to be knights in shinning armour, not grease-covered mechanics in a stinking tube who bob up from the bottom and assassinate passing ships. It simply isn´t what Maria-Theresien Ritters are supposed to be.**_**"**

**John Biggins, "**_**A Sailor of Austria**_**".**

**ooo**

Ever since the official mourning period was over, women paraded themselves in front of the _Ritter _von Trapp, Knight of the Order of Maria-Theresia. All of them were, at first, willing to rescue him from a lonely widowhood and mend his broken heart. As much as he hated it, he became a crusade for some of them. Oddly enough, his brooding air of a tortured hero seemed to appeal to the eligible females, rather than repel them. What made it worse is that he was the perfect catch, possessing a deadly combination of handsome looks, wealth, and the status of one of Austria's greatest naval heroes. The young ones were drawn to him because of his dangerous looks and his glorious military feats, the older, more sophisticated women were attracted by his dry wit, and his sarcastic sense of humor. In essence, he was too much for any woman in search of a husband to resist.

There was an assortment of women of every kind for him to choose from – horse faced heiresses, desperate spinsters, merry divorcées, virginal debutantes, grieving widows… He soon found that he could not stomach any of them, not even for what would be a marriage of convenience. Luckily, most of the ones who were paraded before him were not only absolutely inadequate - they usually disappeared after they heard about the seven children his wife had left him with.

There were also the matchmaking mothers to be dealt with… not to mention a matchmaking elderly aunt and a matchmaking mother in law. It was too much for him to stomach.

Agathe´s parents were alive and well, but while his father-in-law settled for a quiet existence in a small village in the Cornish coast, his mother-in-law, The Right Honourable Frances Whitehead made it her personal crusade to look after the interests of her beloved grandchildren. During her last visit, she began inquiring him, not so subtly, if he would consider taking another wife. She also made it clear that it would be, and it should be, a marriage of convenience, for the sake of her grandchildren only. It was something he could understand only too well – the idea of replacing Agathe with another woman in the heart of those who loved her was as unthinkable to her own mother as it was to him.

Another fierce advocate of a marriage of convenience was his elderly aunt, Alicia von Trapp, his father´s sister and the eldest member of his family. Considering herself the matriarch of the von Trapps, her concerns were of a different kind entirely. The matron feared that his seven children would not be enough to carry the family name to future generations, since there were only two male heirs among them. Apparently, according to her, he needed to produce more male sons! In his current state of mind, however, the very idea of producing more children was just as absurd as the idea of replacing Agathe in his heart. Moreover, he could barely control the seven he already had, what would he do with seven more?

Such was the state of his private affairs when two and a half years after he became a widower, Baron and Baroness Eberfeld, long time friends of his family, had invited him to a formal dinner party at their home in Vienna. But as soon as he crossed the threshold, their intention became clear – to introduce him officially to their 21 year old daughter, Pauline. The perspective annoyed him, but the Eberfelds had been friends of his family longer than he could remember. Refusing their invitation would be unthinkable.

Naturally, he was not interested in young virgins fresh out of exclusive boarding schools. Giggling debutantes who blushed every time he looked at them were extremely unattractive to him. His wife was as chaste as one would expect for a young woman of her station, but she had never been a giggling, blushing debutante, which was precisely what had drawn his attention to her in the first place. Instead, he was looking for a very specific combination of qualities in the woman who would become the second Baroness von Trapp – elegance, class, impeccable upbringing, and a good family name. These qualities would help her, and him, to guide his children into what the world expected of them, and, at the same time be a companion to him, matching his own wit and sophistication. No, she needed to be his equal in every sense of the word. Everything he _thought_ would make his children happier.

As soon as the introductions were over, Pauline von Eberfeld had been sent to the piano, and an endless concert had begun, during which the young woman was supposed to dazzle him with her musical abilities.

However, there was no chance of that happening…

Georg armed himself with a glass of champagne. Undoubtedly, he would soon need it. He tried to shut his mind away from the music, thinking about other diversions that he could potentially look forward to that same evening. Not far away from there, his latest mistress waited for him, in a cloud of brightly colored silk and extravagant perfume. The thought brought a distasteful grimace to his firm lips, just before he drank all the content of that first champagne glass. He immediately reached for another one.

The Eberfelds must not be in their right mind, to consider him for their daughter. Or, at least, they were desperate for reasons that he did not care to find out. Pauline was young and beautiful, so fresh and untouched by the tragedies of life. No, she did not deserve someone like him.

"_Ruining the lives of beautiful young heiresses, sending them to an early grave… that seems to be another one of my hidden talents,_" he thought distastefully, drowning his second glass of champagne. A third one was promptly served to him by a nearby waiter.

No, Pauline Eberfeld would be safe, at least from him. The poor little waif! As soon as she saw him, dark and brooding, she looked like all she wanted to do was to scurry back to the safety of her bedroom until the end of the evening. Her mother would not allow it, of course, and the girl seemed to be doing a supreme effort to keep her poise, as she had probably been told to do. Years of upbringing in an exclusive Swiss private school finally paid off for the girl. She was only betrayed by her nervousness the moment she started playing. The mistakes she made were atrocious, her trembling fingers refused to hit the right keys. Slowly, however, she gained confidence, as she forgot about his intimidating presence and concentrated on the music.

"_There is a little hope for you after all, Pauline_," he thought bitterly.

No, he was not dazzled by her performance, not by far, but he had to acknowledge that Pauline was a not bad musician. Quite the contrary, she was above average, in fact, just good enough to his well trained ears. She was no concert pianist, she was a Viennese debutante who played adequately, but when it came to music, he could be an insufferable critic, probably because his teachers had demanded so much of him as a child. The perfectionist in him started dissecting the girl's performance mercilessly, finding flaw with every musical phrase she produced in the piano.

"_Untalented or not, she seemed to have caught the eye, the ear of Maximillian Detweiler_," he noted, amused. With the corner of his eyes he saw the fiend, money signs shinning in his beady brown eyes.

"You old scum," he whispered softly, making a mock taste to the impresario from a distance. Max acknowledged it with a little bow and a smile.

In spite of his questionable methods, Georg could not help but to help a fond affection for the rascal. He would not have been able to accomplish all he had during the war without the help of two other men he knew since his days as a cadet in Fiume. Max Detweiler and Erik Drascher - two unique personalities that could not have been more different. Naturally, Drascher was not present at the Eberfelds that evening, but Max´s presence had triggered Georg´s memories of him.

Erik Drascher now lived not far away from Georg, in Salzburg´s famous _Getreidegasse_, where he owned a… well, he should call it an _antique shop_, for the sake of propriety. He was respectably married to the widow of a former conductor of the Vienna Philharmonic and answered to the ridiculously ordinary name of _Hans Schneider_. Yet, there was never anything ridiculous or remotely ordinary about Erik Drascher. He never knew exactly what his real nationality was, and later he would have every reason to doubt that it was even his real name. Undoubtedly, Drascher´s fierce loyalty to old Austria had always been unquestionable, considering his notorious career. He was simply the best torpedo man Georg ever had in his crew, and he would probably end by commanding his own boat one day – that is, if he did not have the strange habit of disappearing from time to time. Surprisingly, the Navy´s high command was extremely lenient with the man´s indiscipline, and Georg vaguely suspected why. His suspicions were confirmed the day when he and his crew received the mission to infiltrate Drascher – by then also a captain – behind the enemy lines. It turned out that his torpedo man was one a most notorious spy… It did not surprise Georg at all, quite the contrary, it explained a lot about the man. Under his command, it would be Drascher who always be able to get him that essential piece of equipment required for the submarine to stay afloat without going through all the intricate bureaucratic channels of the Imperial Navy.

If at sea Georg counted on Drascher´s ability to work around the Navy´s absurd bureaucracy, breaking more than a few rules whenever necessary. At land he had Maximillian Detweiler. Max´s methods were entirely different, of course, but just as effective. Never in the history of the Imperial Navy there had been a man more unsuited to join its ranks. Max Detweiler was simply unsuited for military life, but he was so clever that even his unsuitability was used as an advantage. Nowadays he was following his true vocation – he had become an artistic impresario, chasing promising artists all over Europe.

It seemed that Max´s selected target for the evening was Pauline Eberfeld. O-ho, but the girl´s parents would be scandalized if they only knew of the impresario´s intentions, but when it came to making money, Max knew no boundaries.

A wrong note made Georg wince and utter a low curse. It was a fine, grand piano, and it did not deserve such poor, amateurish treatment. At least Pauline´s obvious mistake had the power to discourage any _ideas _Max Detweiler could have for her. Shaking his head in disappointment, Max had simply walked away, to join Baron and Baroness Eberfeld, who listened to their daughter as if she was good enough to play a solo accompanied by the Philharmonic.

She wasn´t.

All he wanted to do was to march to that piano, tell that girl to step aside and show her how it was done, to treat the small audience with the proper way a _Polonaise_ should be played. But if he did that, he would be breaking another one of his self-imposed vows – those fingers would never touch a piano keyboard again, there were just too many hurtful memories attached to music. His fingers itched, and he wiggled them, and that gave him a moment of respite. In all fairness, he did not think he could play that _Polonaise_ more perfectly that Pauline Eberfeld had. They were stiff because of the lack of practice, and he would probably make a fool of himself if he tried. It would be terribly frustrating.

"So, what do you think?" a woman next to him whispered. It was obvious what the subject of her question was – Pauline Eberfeld. Whether the lady wanted to know his opinion about the girl´s musical talent or her suitability as a wife was another question, one he wasn´t remotely interested in answering.

She wanted to know what he thought… His smile was wicked.

"_I think that I am not interested. I think that I have already corrupted my share of rich heiresses, thank you very much,_" he felt tempted to say, but only a low groan came out in response.

"Oh heavens, that was not very attractive," she said, teasingly.

She wasn´t offended by his rebuff, but immediately, he regretted it. Impoliteness was something that he abhorred in others, and his low opinion of himself would only increased if began to behave less like the gentleman he was.

"I do believe that Chopin himself couldn't have given a more… elongated concert himself," he replied, elegantly but sarcastically, in a tone that practically screamed his wish to be left alone. She disturbed him. Pauline Eberfeld irritated him. _Chopin_ irritated him. He particularly disliked most pieces created by the Polish composer, finding his music overly sentimental. Agathe, on the other hand, used to love it. This was yet another reason why he should be annoyed that evening. Pauline Eberfeld could at least have chosen a different repertoire. A little Rachmaninoff or Debussy would have improved his mood a great deal, but perhaps she lacked the proper skills to play the Russian´s music and her tastes were much too conservative to fully enjoy the French composer.

The disturbing woman´s perfume now invaded his nostrils, telling him that she had not moved away. It was… oddly _pleasant_. Subtle and elegant, just enough to stir a man´s sense without being vulgar. Remembering Isabelle, the mistress who waited for him later that evening, he found yet another reason _not_ to keep his appointment with her. He thought about how much he hated when women bathed themselves in those overly sweet fragrances. Agathe had been a notable exception, and now, surprisingly, this woman. No, this _lady,_ because that was undoubtedly what she was. If he were not so weary tonight, he might even be interested in engaging in some polite conversation, but his mood was to dark for that. At least, Isabelle demanded very little of him apart from his skills as a lover, he would not have to play the brilliant conversationalist with her.

Which reminded him – it was time to put an end to their one-sided (from her part) conversation and leave the premises. Isabelle would not wait forever!

All things considered, under normal circumstances, sarcasm would be the only thing that would receive once he had made that decision. The next step would be a polite nod and a murmured excuse, and he would simply walk away.

Oh, but the lady was persistent. He should have realized that she was the kind that would not give up so easily.

"She _is_ surprisingly good, isn´t she?"

"O-ho, I am sure the Philharmonic will not miss her," he sneered.

If that did not work, he would have to shock her to the core with some scandalous comment about being already late to see his French mistress. Yes, that should do it. He still dared not look at her, although now curiosity was urging him to.

"How cruel to the poor darling girl!"

Who _was_ she?

Could she be an envious elderly cousin of young Pauline, eager to spread to the four winds that even the wealthy Eberfeld heiress had failed to catch the eye of the illustrious Captain von Trapp? Or a merry Viennese women who wanted him for himself, and would be willing to do her best to drive him away from Isabelle? Why was she so insisting, why hadn´t he manage to drive her away with his biting words?

It suddenly dawned upon him that perhaps she knew him. Indeed, her voice was vaguely familiar. Not one he had heard in the recent years, but in a long ago past, in a world that no longer existed.

He could not resist throwing her a quick, sideways glance.

Something about her stopped him from another planned rebuff. It was not her elegance or beauty, although one quick look told him that she possessed these in spades. She had silvery blonde hair that was elaborately arranged. Her dress was dark blue, and it fitted her elegant figure to perfection. Even the jewelry she wore seemed to have been carefully selected to create a perfect picture: the epitome of an aristocratic woman. But none of those things struck a chord in her memory – it was her voice, her perfume that made her more than familiar to him. He knew her from another time, another place. Where? When?

"_Not now,"_ he thought, grimacing, taking another sip of his champagne as he turned his attention back to Pauline Eberfeld. He was there to run from memories, and not to meet them, but they seemed to be chasing him relentlessly.

"I see," she continued, when he remained silent. "Well, at least I´ve tried. _S__he_ was right about you, of course." He looked at her again, this time scowling, but he still did not speak, did not dare to ask her _who_ had been right about him, because he was afraid he knew the answer only too well.

"You really don't remember me, do you?" she asked softly. "But in your case, I think I can find in my heart a reason to forgive you."

The memory came to him, and this time he was not able to stop it.

_Elsa…_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 03**

_**Elsa**_

**ooo**

"_**No little shack do you share with me,  
>We do not flee from the mortgagee,<br>Nary a care in the world have we;  
>How Can Love Survive?<br>You're fond of bonds and you own a lot.  
>I have a plane and a diesel yacht,<br>Plenty of nothing you haven't got  
>How Can Love Survive?<br>No rides for us on the top of a bus  
>In the face of the freezing breezes.<br>You reach your goals in your comfy old Rolls  
>Or in one of your Mercedes!<br>Far, very far off the beam are we,  
>Quaint and bizarre as a team are we,<br>Two millionaires with a dream are we,  
>We're keeping romance alive.<br>Two millionaires with a dream are we,  
>We'll make our love survive<br>**_

_**No little cold water flat have we,  
>Warmed by a glow of insolvency,<br>Up to your necks in security.  
>How Can Love Survive?<br>How can I show what I feel for you?  
>I cannot go out and steal for you,<br>I cannot die like Camille for you.  
>How Can Love Survive?<br>You millionaires with financial affairs  
>Are too busy for simple pleasure.<br>When you are poor it is toujours l'amour,  
>For l'amour all the poor have leisure!<br>Caught in our gold plated chains are we,  
>Lost in our wealthy domains are we,<br>Trapped by our capital gains are we,  
>But we'll keep romance alive.<br>Trapped by your capital gains are we,  
>We'll (You'll) make our (your) love survive!"<br>**_

_**Rodgers & Hammerstein, **_**How can love survive**_**?**_

**ooo**

"_**A true U-boat man would exchange all the medals in Vienna for a dry pair of socks.**_**"**

**John Biggins, "**_**A Sailor of Austria**_**".**

**ooo**

The memories of the day of the SMU-6 christening would forever be a pleasant blur for Georg von Trapp. At least after that damned champagne bottle was broken by his future wife…

He vaguely remembered being introduced to Miss Agathe Whitehead and to her cousin Elsa, the youngest daughter of the Count von Enns. The Comtesse was absolutely dazzling, a stunning beauty. Agathe was not. She was beautiful, yes, but not exceptionally so, although she had the most captivating smile he had ever seen. He was blinded by it. At a ball, later that evening, the men had fallen over themselves to court the tall, elegant Elsa; he, however, could not resist the petite figure of Agathe and her smiling light brown eyes.

He recalled seeing Elsa a couple of times after his engagement, since she and Agathe had been inseparable as children. She was a bridesmaid at their wedding. But never once he saw her after they were married – only the occasional telegram, or even more rare, a telephone call. Vaguely, he recalled his wife telling him that her cousin had married a millionaire nearly 30 years her senior, a man she had been introduced to at the ball which had followed the SMU-6 christening.

"_Comtesse Enns_," he said softly. He was not sure yet what her married name and title were, and he did not wish to risk another _faux-pas_ with such a distinguished lady.

She had changed, of course, but time had been kind to her. She was much, much more than he remembered her, probably because Agathe had blinded him for any other woman that day and only now he could see her clearly. Elsa was taller than he remembered, her hair of a lighter shade. She was also more beautiful and infinitely more elegant and sophisticated. Strong and confident, the contrast between her and the debutante playing the piano could not be more staggering.

"Oh my, you do remember me! I´m relieved. For a moment my female pride was in tatters. My late husband used to tell me how utterly unforgettable I am, and for a moment I believed that he had lied to me," she said.

"I apologize, _Comtesse_. Your husband was absolutely right, of course. I, on the other hand, seem to be forgetting myself this evening."

"Oh, I assure you that you are every bit as unforgettable as I am, Captain von Trapp." He bowed lightly, gracing her with a genuine smile – his first that evening. "I daresay that we make the perfect couple – dear old Max is watching us from the corner, wringing his hands already."

Georg followed the direction of her glance.

"Indeed he is. I dare not ask what his obscure motives might be this time or what devious plans he might have for us, but I see that the money signs are back in his eyes," he said ironically.

"That is much better," she exclaimed laughingly. "You were scaring away all the ladies with your dark scowl. By the way, it is Elsa von Schraeder now. For you, just Elsa. We _are_ old acquaintances, after all, and we are about to fall into Max´s clutches."

Again, he acknowledged her kindness with a smile, but deep inside he had no intention of calling her by her first name.

"We _waltzed_ together once, remember?" She leaned into him, nudging his shoulder playfully with hers.

He looked down, staring at his half empty glass. Yes, he remembered it. Indeed, they had waltzed together during that ball, but only because his grandmother had whispered to him that another dance with Agathe would be hardly inappropriate, at least if his intentions towards her were serious. People would talk, unless he showed some interest in the other young eligible women present. Yet, while they danced, all he remembered was to guide her in a way that he would never be too far from Agathe Whitehead, now in the arms of a fellow naval officer. "_If he holds her too close, or if he drags her away to the garden, I may have to break his arms_,_ or, at the very least, challenge him to a duel,_" he remembered thinking.

"How should I call you nowadays? Captain or Baron von Trapp?" her amused voice awoke him from his reveries.

"I prefer _Captain_." For some reason, he did not feel like permitting her to use his first name yet, even if she had openly allowed him that courtesy. A courtesy he had no intention of taking advantage of.

"You are right, of course. "Barons are usually wicked men who ride their horses around the countryside looking for gentle and unsuspecting maidens to ravish. No, you are a respectable sea captain, a grieving widower and a father of six."

"Seven," he corrected her.

"It does not matter, darling. You are still too dashing to be a Baron, and perhaps not wicked enough," she teased.

"O-ho, I wouldn´t be so sure of that," he said, the thoughts about what he had anticipated doing with and to the ravishing Isabelle that evening briefly crossing his mind.

"I said _perhaps,_ darling," she purred.

What the hell was he doing?

He drowned his next words in another large sip of champagne, so quickly that he nearly choked on it. He prayed that she had not realized his discomfort. If she only knew the reason for it… Would she feel like running for dear life, like Pauline Eberfeld? God, he felt like an untried youth, it had been two decades since he had done that: just _flirting_ with a woman. No flirting had ever been necessary with Isabelle and the few others who had preceded her. But Elsa von Schraeder was openly flirting with him, and he was only responding to it so easily, so naturally. Could it possibly happen, could he, even if for only a few moments, return to his old charming self? To be once more the gallant naval officer who had won the heart of Miss Agathe Whitehead so easily? The idea was vaguely disturbing, and he tried to push his thoughts in another direction.

"Uh - did you say your husband´s name was _von Schraeder?_" he asked, clearing his throat.

Baron Rufus von Schraeder had been a close friend of his father, and had passed away a week after Agathe´s death. When it happen, he had been so distressed by grief that he had failed to pay his respects to the family, and he could not help but feeling guilty about it.

He continued, not waiting for her answer.

"Then you must be Rufus…"

"Widow, yes. Isn't it a terrible coincidence? We both met our spouses on the same day, and we lost them within a week of each other."

"Indeed," he said cryptically, raising his eyebrows. She did not look at all like a grieving widow, and he wondered how she had managed to survive after losing her husband. Unlike his marriage, he wagered hers had not been a love match, but a match none the less, one that had lasted as long as his own had. Even still, the Baroness didn't appear to be grieving – either due to her upbringing or the politics in her marriage - he wasn't sure. Baron Schraeder had been described to him by Max Detweiler, one of his best friends, as being "richer than God and uglier than the devil".

Elsa – Baroness Schraeder now – continued speaking. It was unavoidable, now politeness demanded that he stayed and listened to her, at least until their conversation, which he had hoped at first would be brief, died.

"How long has it been since we last saw each other?" she asked. "Fifteen years?"

"Sixteen. You went to visit us when my eldest daughter was born."

"Oh yes. Elizabeth, isn´t it?"

"We call her Liesl."

"Yes, I remember the day, and your little girl. I remember she had your eyes – dark blue and mysterious."

"She still does!" he smiled, taking another sip of his champagne.

"I saw Agathe several times after that, but you were never around. Where were you?" She touched his arm lightly.

"Oh, here and there," he mocked.

"How clumsy of me! Where were you, indeed, how silly to ask a question like that to one of Austria´s greatest war heroes! Trying to save us all, fighting your battles underwater, sinking enemy ships and winning titles and medals."

"Yes, I think that accurately sums up my military career!" he smirked.

"You certainly miss it all…"

"Yes, of course I miss the sea," he said immediately, and a little more irritably than he had intended. There was nothing that ripping a bandage from a wound quickly, the pain was blessedly quick. By now he knew well what to say to end such conversations quickly.

"Have you never been to the ocean again?"

"Oh yes, constantly. A treaty might have stripped Austria of a seacoast, but at least it did not steal the freedom of its citizens to reach the ocean. I go sailing quite often, as a matter of fact, I still have my boat docked in Venice. Every now and then I take commission to take a merchant ship from one port to another. I´ve been working in the design of a new submarine for the British Navy, but…"

"But what? You seem to be a very busy man."

"It is _not the same thing_," he admitted reluctantly.

"I know. Like you, I threw myself at work after Rufus died." He threw her a quizzical look – he could not help it. "Now, don´t give me that look, Captain! I am no idle socialite. You have no idea how tiresome it is, organizing one charity ball after another for the Viennese high society."

"O-ho, undoubtedly!"

"You miss her too, don´t you?" Elsa changed the subject abruptly, and the smile froze in his face. He should have seen it coming. In fact, he deserved it – his reaction to her commenting about being busy with work had been telling, and she probably resented it. Still, he saw no need to answer her question. Apparently, the answer was only too evident in his face.

"I went to see her at the hospital in Salzburg, you know. I was with her only days before it happened. You never saw me, she told me you had gone home to care for your children who were also very sick."

It was rare, nowadays, but it still happened – once in a while he would run into someone who had not seen him since Agathe´s funeral. And the questions and comments about her would automatically happen. All he could do was to brace himself for the pain and do everything within the limits of politeness to drop the subject as quickly and elegantly as possible.

"Probably," he said curtly. It was what he did in those days, anyway. Never sleeping or eating, only running madly from the hospital to the house and back, as if trying to be in two places at once, utterly unable to decide where he was most needed, incapable of knowing where his heart wanted him to be.

"I'm sorry, she never told me you visited," he added, for the sake of politeness. "Otherwise I would have contacted you when it happened."

"I am sure you would. Would you like to know what she said to me?" she asked.

"_Not really,"_ he wanted to reply, but he had to force himself to hold his ground, once more for the sake of politeness. At the piano, Pauline was beginning to play a Mozart Sonata, one who happened to be another one Agathe´s old favorites. He closed his eyes for a moment. If Elsa noticed his discomfort, she either did not mind it or she felt that he could handle whatever it was that he was about to say.

"You are going to tell me anyway, aren´t you?" he sneered.

"Only because she would have wanted me to. She said: "_He has lost the Navy, now he is going to lose me_…" She said that you would try to wallow yourself in self pity, like some Byronic hero – her words, not mine, although seeing you now I can´t help but agree wholeheartedly."

"That does sound like my wife," he grimaced. Byronic hero, indeed! The description was an apt one, as much as he hated to admit it.

"She also said that it was up to me, my dear husband and sweet old Max Detweiler to keep it from happening."

"_Well, it seems that you are all inexcusably late_," he nearly spat.

"I am terribly sorry I was not around. And although he would die before admitting, I think Max is sorry as well," she said, patting his arm lightly, as if to give him comfort and reiterate her understanding of his loss. He was surprised by the warmth of her gesture. Tenderness was another thing that he had willingly banished from his life lately. He could not recall the last time he had allowed one of his children to hug him. Until now he hadn´t realize that he missed it, perhaps too much.

"Unfortunately, I was never good in keeping my promises, even to my closest childhood friend. And then, one week later my poor Rufus died," she rambled on. "And once that awful mourning period was over, you… well, you know what you did. Let's just say I was surprised. First you disappeared from the face of the earth, then you… oh, admit it, you have _not_ become the most charming bachelor in Vienna! You are utterly unapproachable, did you know that?"

He chuckled. "I am doing what I can. You know what I mean."

"Are you? Soaking yourself on champagne, seducing women of dubious reputation… Now, don´t glare at me like that, I know all about the French dancer!"

"You know all about… _Who_ told you?" his voice was dangerous.

"Darling, I am not one of your war prisoners. You are not going to torture me if I don´t tell you, are you?"

Again, the flirtatious tone, but this time he would not fall for it. If there was gossip about him, he needed to know.

"I never tortured anyone in my life!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Now, why do I find that so disappointing?" she pouted, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"_When did she turn into such a charming_ coquette_?" _he asked himself. He did not remember her being that way, it was very distracting, but right now he could not allow himself the pleasure. The last bit of information she had providing him was disturbing, and it could be quite damaging.

"_Who_ told you?" he insisted.

"Max, of course."

"I will strangle him, I swear I will," he gritted.

"Oh, don´t blame him. He claims that he heard it from your butler."

Georg groaned.

"In this case, I will strangle Franz too!"

"I would not worry, darling. I trust Max with my life. He and I are old confidants, we tell each other _everything_. He has a great deal of respect for you and I don´t think he will repeat this little scandalous piece of gossip to anyone else. Actually, he told me he gave your butler quite a scolding when he heard it."

Yes, Max might keep his mouth shut, but Franz was an entirely different matter. It was not the first time he heard about his butler being a scandalmonger, but at this rate his worst suspicions about the man would be proven true quite soon.

"In my defense, I think that your friends at the Opera would be horrified if they heard you describe their prima ballerina as a woman of dubious reputation," Georg said.

"Oh, I won´t argue with that. Not now, at least. By the way, speaking of _dancers_, you still owe me a proper, waltz. I will not let you escape me this time."

He looked at her, surprised.

"Didn´t we waltz properly last time?"

"No, my darling," she pouted. "You were much too busy watching another woman, you tripped on my toes!"

"I _married_ that woman."

"That you did. But my pride and my feet were hopelessly bruised that night. That was not very gentlemanly of you."

Her smile was so charming, so captivating… He quickly made his mind not to resist it.

"Tell me, Baroness, what can I possibly do to correct my unforgivable behavior?"

"Forget the waltz, Captain. Forget everything else, leave it all in the past where it belongs." He frowned, not sure if there was an underlying meaning behind her words. Her next words disarmed him.

"I will teach you how to tango!" He raised his eyebrows, incredulously. "I think is what both of us need, it is so marvelously risqué."

Moments later, he was insisting that she call him Georg. She was also making him laugh. She invited him to a ball the following night. He accepted, and they waltzed all the time, and not once did he glance at another woman.

The evening had taken an unexpected turn for the best, and for the first time in years he allowed himself to feel just a glimmer of hope. The French ballerina, Isabelle waited for him in vain that night. The following morning he sent her flowers, accompanied by an obscenely expensive emerald bracelet. There was a note, ending their affair, permanently. Though he would not hear from the woman again for quite a while, he was told – by none other than Elsa – that she had taken it quite badly.

"Max said that she tried to drown herself in the Danube last night, wearing nothing but the emeralds you gave her." He choked violently. "Darling, there is no need to feel so bad about it. I find it deliciously wicked. Your first suicide!"

Georg finally laughed, reminding her that fortunately the lady in question had not actually died in the attempt, so it hadn´t really been a suicide. He never knew if there was any truth to the outrageous tale, nor did he have any inclination to find out. What was refreshing was that Elsa was amused by his peccadilloes of the past year or two, rather than scandalized by them. In a way, she relieved him of a good part of the awful guilt he felt for turning to other women for comfort, perhaps because she had gone through similar experiences herself in a not so distant past. He never dared to inquire; of course, he did not think he ever would, even as their relationship progressed. If she had taken any lovers after her husband died, she was very discreet about it. A lesson that he should have learned by now…

Several waltzes and tangos later, Baroness Elsa von Schraeder became his constant companion. He never gave her any false illusions, telling her plain and simply that he did not believe he would every love another woman. Wherever their relationship took them, she should not expect declarations of undying love for him. For her part, she never demanded of him more than he could give her. Perhaps that was part of what made so easy being around her. He could be an outrageous, shameless flirt with her without risking his heart. It had no surprised him when his body reacted in a very peculiar manner the first time he held her close while they were dancing a tango.

"Oh my, I fear this might be bigger than I can possibly handle, darling," she exclaimed.

It was always like that. Elsa amused him; she made him laugh in the most unexpected moments with her outrageous words. Although deep inside he was still a broken man, he felt better when he was around her. She understood him in a way no other woman except Agathe ever had. He felt almost… _alive_ again. Physically he felt also better – he regained some his youthful appearance, he started sailing and riding again. He slept better at night, and enjoyed more of the sunshine during the day. Though he still drank socially, he no longer did it to oblivion. Little by little, he discovered the joys of having a nice conversation with a highly intelligent woman. They have the same witty sense of humor and shared a myriad of common interests, and even their political views were similar. There was never an official engagement, but they slowly became known as a couple, and one would not see one without the other in any social function. He escorted her to the Opera, to concerts, and to every ball of the season, frequently acting as a host in the charity balls she organized herself. Max Detweiler, a mutual friend of both, began acting as their chaperon, whenever he was needed.

Elsa became his armor, his shield against his own memories. Sometimes he asked himself if he was not using her, but never dwelled too much upon the idea, because if she was using him for the same purpose, he did not mind. Their relationship simply _worked_. He could not help but being impressed by the manner in which she used her impeccable skills to whisk away any unwanted attention that he might be attracting, before he even became aware of it.

It was inevitable: little by little, he began to see her not only as a good friend, but as a mature woman who possessed all of the qualities he was looking for in the wife he needed - beauty, brains, breeding, birth – not to mention beauty. She was charming, witty and sophisticated, nearly perfect in every sense of the word, and he was certain that his family, and even Agathe´s family, would approve the match. His decision would not be questioned.

Naturally, such realization changed everything. It did not matter how far things between them had advanced; now Georg would be forced to retreat. His sense of propriety demanded that, from that moment on, he conducted their alliance following all of the rules. It did not matter that quite a few members of society would not condemn them for becoming lovers. He respected Elsa too much to place her in the same category of those women he sought comfort with until recently.

And the rules dictated that, once his decision was made, the next step would be to introduce her to his children…


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 04**

_**A Captain and Seven Children**_

_**ooo**_

"**_Why, I suppose you have a governess for her: I saw a person with her just now - is she gone? Oh, no! there she is still behind the window-curtain. You pay her, of course: I should think it quite as expensive, - more so; for you have them both to keep in addition... You should hear mama on the chapter of governesses: Mary and I have had, I should think, a dozen at least in our day; half of them detestable and the rest ridiculous, and all incubi - were they not, mama?"_**

**_Blanche Ingram, in Charlotte Bronté´s, "Jane Eyre" _**

**_ooo_**

Six months after Georg von Trapp had been reacquainted with Elsa von Schraeder at the home of the Eberfelds, in Vienna, he found himself in that same drawing room once more. This time, though the scenario was strikingly similar, there were a number of very important differences.

Young Pauline was again playing Chopin at the piano, but now her new fiancée was by her side, and it was for him that she played. She did not look like she wished to sink to the bottom of the ocean when she saw him; she greeted him warmly and politely. For the first time, he saw her smile. Baron and Baroness Eberfeld seemed rather pleased with her daughter´s choice for a husband, a nice young man from a good family. In their eyes, Pauline could not have made a better choice. Georg agreed wholeheartedly.

This time, contrary to what had happened six months earlier, he was actually enjoying himself. He was surrounded by his peers, his equals. Patriots like him, who shared the same interests, the same values of old Austria. Life was just beginning to smile at him once again.

If he only could do something about making his children just as _content_…

There it was, what seemed to be the remained pebble in his shoes. As much as a father would ever hate to admit such a thing, his own sons and daughters were becoming quite a nuisance to him.

A governess was a poor replacement for a mother´s love, but it was all he could do for them at the moment. At least a qualified one would be able to discipline them adequately, help them in their studies so that their efforts were channeled to the kind of superior education they needed. Hiring a governess was one of the first things he did, after waking up from the stupor that followed his wife´s funeral.

The first governess had been admitted to his household only days after Agathe died, the last one was hired about three weeks ago, a few days before he left for Vienna. The highest standards were set for each every one of them, they were chosen amongst those who had worked for the best families only. Any flaw, either in their curriculum or in their reputation was enough for him to discard them. There had been ten in all, and he feared that there would be many more, because they had all failed. They knew several languages, they were knowledgeable in art and history, they had perfect manners, but they were still simply _unable to control his children._ It was where their competence ended and his troubles began. If the governess were the victims of a succession of cruel practical jokes it was entirely their fault, not the children, because _they were utterly unable to discipline them_. Because of this unbreakable logic, that, at the first sign of complaint because of a prank, if they did not quit of their own volition, he dismissed them immediately.

However, that evening, as he chatted amiably with his friends, discussing politics and occasionally gossiping about the latest scandals in the Viennese society, he could allow himself to forget about the children and their governess for a moment. He´d had three weeks of peace so far. There had been no news from his villa in Aigen-bei-Salzburg, which obviously meant _good news._ As usual, he left for Vienna giving his staff very specific orders not to contact him unless it was absolutely necessary. The absence of telegrams or phone calls could only mean that the new governess – the 10th, since their mother died – was doing her job remarkably well. It was either that, or finally his sons and daughters were agreeing with what he had determined for them. Discipline was finally taking its toll.

Actually, things had been running smoothly since _before_ he left Aigen. The children did not play a single prank on the woman since the day he had hired her. There had been no complaints from the woman, and the children appeared to be calm and completely subdued. No storm loomed in the horizon, not a single threatening cloud.

Unusual. _Very_ unusual.

Could it be that three weeks ago, he was so eager to run back to Vienna that he tricked himself into believing that the children had finally accepted their new way of life and would stop chasing away every woman in charge of their upbringing?

Now, three weeks later, he still lived under the misconception that his ship was sailing calm waters again. After all, it was easier to believe that than to brood about what to do with the incorrigible rascals all the time. He began to love the comfortable illusion that everything was unusually peaceful, but that alone should have been unsettling to him. It should have given him the hint that something was amiss; that the children were up to something. Nothing had happened, and he should not take for granted that nothing would ever happen again.

Baron Eberfeld´s butler discretely informed him that there was a phone call - from Aigen-bei-Salzburg. He felt his blood turned cold. Keeping his cool hauteur, he excused himself and calmly followed the butler to the telephone. There was no need to rush, no need for panicking, he told himself. After three years, he was well trained in dealing with the children´s antics. If necessary, he would drive to Salzburg tomorrow, cross the name of governess number ten from his list, hire the next one, number eleven and drive back to Vienna. In three days, he would have his peace of mind again.

"I'll pass the call," the butler informed.

"Thank you," he replied tensely. "Yes?" Max Detweiler arrived at this moment, and Georg gestured to him to wait until he finished.

"Uh - uh. They did _what_? Yes, yes. I see. That's unacceptable" he roared. "Of course, I certainly can't blame her for leaving." He listed for a few moments before conceding "All right, I will come back home – tomorrow, if possible. Thank you, Frau Schmidt. Good night."

"A call from home? Something wrong?" asked Max.

"What else? Trouble with the children again…" Georg answered curtly.

Max shook his head.

"You have more trouble with seven children than I do with all of Europe´s starving artists."

"O-ho, I honestly doubt that."

"No wonder you are considering getting married again! It is becoming a matter of necessity to you, isn´t it?"

"Why else?" Georg shrugged. "They need a mother."

"… and you need Elsa," Max added.

"Yes, I suppose I do need Elsa," he admitted.

"How devilishly convenient." Max wrung his hands. "Oh, the possibilities, my friend, the possibilities… Have you spoken to her about your intentions?"

"No. And I will not until I am certain she – won't say no to my charms." He gave a smirk to his friend.

"Having doubts with yourself old man? _You – _Captain von Trapp?" Max noted that he may have touched on a sore spot with his friend. Trying to appease him, he added "I don't believe she would – who could resist you? _The Naval hero of Austria!_ I dare say that it's a wonderful match – she is indecently rich, even though she is not exactly _motherly_."

"Oh, she will adapt, I am sure. No, that is not the issue." His eyes lost their sparkle as he added "I must be realistic, Max. I'm a widower with seven children. Not something that most women find particularly attractive. Attending lavish balls and concerts in Vienna or traveling around the world with me is one thing, becoming a full time mother of seven is another entirely."

"What happened in Aigen this time?" His friend asked, wondering what the little terrors - _uh darlings,_ he corrected himself - had been up to.

"The usual – they terrorized another governess."

"Another one? How many so far?"

"_Ten_," was the curt reply. Max laughed. "This is not funny, Max! I take my children's upbringing with the utmost seriousness, you must know that."

"Yes, but perhaps _too_ seriously." That earned him another scowl from Georg. "I am sorry, but the image of ten elderly governesses running for dear life because of harmless little children… Come on, Georg, you must give them some credit. They can be quite creative in their practical jokes."

"I wish they applied their creativity into something more productive." He growled. Terrorizing governess wasn't acceptable – no matter how humorous some of the pranks had been.

"And may I ask who their latest victim was?"

"The Eberfelds recommended her to me. A formidable woman, she was employed by Prince and Princess Starhemberg for over a decade."

"What? She survived those two little devils of theirs for more than ten years and yet could not handle your children for two weeks? That is quite extraordinary," exclaimed Max, as they made their way back to the music room.

"Yes, but apparently, seven von Trapps were too much for her."

"Yes. Aren't you just a little proud of them?" his friend added mischievously.

"Max!" he hissed.

"Tell me. What did they do? You know I am as curious as a cat."

"Trust me, you do not want to know…"

"There you are - brooding again…" chided Elsa, walking towards both men as soon as they entered the music room. Noticing the Captain's dark look, she took a hold of his arm, handing him another glass of champagne. "Here, darling, it looks like you need this. Now tell me, what don´t we want to know?"

"Nothing terrible. It's the children, as usual."

Elsa rolled her eyes. Behind them, Baron Eberfeld spoke. "The Captain and his seven children. One could write an entire novel about it."

"More like ten novels, one about each governess they sent running from home," Max informed. "Do you know that Georg keeps a list of waiting governesses in his desk drawer? When one is gone, all he has to do is to cross her name out and ring the next one. It is amazingly efficient. Isn´t that true, Georg?"

"Yes, Max, fortunately or not, one tends to learn from experience," he replied acidly.

"Oh, those children can´t be so terrible," said Baroness Eberfeld asked amiably. "I remember them as being quite talented and well behaved."

"Whatever talents they still possess, Baroness, they are not being used for their own good, I can assure you. Sometimes I think that if we had them infiltrated behind the enemy lines, we would have a better chance of winning the great war," Georg chuckled.

"What do they do with their governesses? Please enlighten us," asked Baron Eberfeld.

Georg shrugged.

"Only the usual tricks at first. Snakes in their pockets, frogs in their beds… or is it the opposite? When that does not work they move on to more… sophisticated tactics," he explained, grimly. "For instance, they made one of them – governess number three, I believe – believe that the house was _haunted. _Apparently my daughters were inspired by reading too many gothic novels. They were so good at it that to this day some of the maids believe it to be true."

"And you don´t you find their antics just a little amusing?

"No, no, not at all."

"Oh Georg, they are children! Unless they inflicted any serious harm upon their victims… They didn´t, did they?" asked Baroness Eberfeld.

"No, they are satisfied with mild heart attacks," he replied, ironically. "It seems that they do have a well developed sense of ethics. They draw the line at physically harming the women. However, everything else is fair game. They have an uncanny ability to read the enemy and discover what their weakest spots are. That is where they attack."

"It sounds like a submarine captain I used to know," Max grumbled.

"Yes, and I had no idea I would pass such a heritage to my children and they would use their evil powers to victimize governesses!"

"If you don't mind me asking, Georg, why are they even at home?" asked Baroness Eberfeld from somewhere behind Max. "Children belong in a boarding school. Otherwise you'll never be able to move on."

He thought for a moment. If anyone mentioned a boarding school years ago, he would be angered beyond belief. Now he was forced to admit that the idea held a certain appeal to him. Elsa would never say no to a marriage proposal if it came with the reassurance that his children would be away from home during most of the year. She still would be able to provide the right family background that they needed to succeed, and, at the same time, they would not be around him all the time, making him remember…

"Oh mother," Pauline spoke for the first time, with a warning glance to her mother. "It sounds so cold and cruel! Not when they lost their mother."

"It´s quite all right, actually," the Captain reassured them all with absolute honesty, then turned back to the older woman. "I was raised in a boarding school myself, Baroness. I was very unhappy there. I am not sure yet I wish to impose the same fate on my children. Let me just say that I am not exactly an advocate of the idea that a little misery in your youth can be a good preparation for life… unless that proves to be absolutely necessary, of course."

"_They are already unhappy as it is,_ his conscience added in thought. But as an answer, it was perfect. Diplomatic and uncompromising, until he decided what to do.

"Well, I never had a child of my own, but I think we can all agree that the children of today are different," said Elsa, taking his side and saving him from what could potentially become an unpleasant situation. "They need proper guidance, otherwise they become uncontrollable." She patted his hand, as if to show her support and understanding. "Now tell me, darling: how bad was it this time?"

"Terrible, I´m afraid. I have to go back to Aigen as soon as possible, to arrange for another governess."

"Do you have to leave right away or will you come to the opera with us tomorrow night? I reserved the best box in the house," Elsa said. He smiled at her.

"I am sorry, darling, but I must leave in the morning. Frau Schmidt – my housekeeper – is an elderly woman and I fear seven rebellious children may be much more than she can possibly handle." Elsa was visibly disappointed.

"Don´t fret, darling, I am planning to be back to Vienna before the month is over," he winked at her. "I only need the time to contact the next governess in my list, make sure everything is in order, and then I will be back here before you know it."

"Just do yourself a favor Georg, if you don´t mind the advice," Baroness Eberfeld spoke. "Never hire the attractive ones. Cross them out from that list of yours, because they might be more interested in you than the children, and that will be when your real troubles will begin," she finished, throwing a scathing glance at her husband.

"Don´t worry, Baroness, I am sure that is a lesson I have already learned," he replied, cryptically, as he began to enlighten them the tale of governess number five.

In the end, Elsa convinced him to stay another day.

"_You are much too angry, my darling. It is not wise to make decisions in such a foul mood_," she said.

They were having lunch at his hotel the following morning, as he told her more details about the troubles he was having with the children. The logic was simple: if she was going to be his wife, she needed to know exactly what she was getting into.

"Oh darling, I wish I could help you – and I promise I will, in any way I can," she said. "But you must tell me _how_. You see, I have absolutely no clue. I never have had any children around me. Rufus and I… oh well, we never had them, and I never worried about the reason why. I suppose I never thought about myself as a mother. And God knows that my poor husband would not have made a suitable father."

"I am taking you to meet them," he said simply, interrupting her chatter.

For the first time, he saw worry etched on her face. Trained as she was to hide her feelings, this time she could not disguise the meaningful raising of her eyebrows, and the look of entire surprise. She was certainly aware of the full implications of the invitation.

"That is, if Max is free to come along," he added. We´ll need a chaperon, naturally."

"Naturally," she echoed meaningfully. "Well, in that case…" she started talking, but stopped almost immediately. He would always recall the moment as the first, and probably the only time, he had seen Elsa von Schaeder at a loss for words.

He decided to help her. "Unless you don´t want to, of course," he added.

"Don´t be silly, of course I want to! I want to…"

"Yes?"

She recovered her composure with a deep breath.

"I want to meet all your friends in Salzburg - and your little ones, of course. I saw Liesl once, when she was a still a baby. I don´t know the others, of course… Which brings me to another matter. You must help me, because I am completely useless when it comes to buying gifts, especially for children."

"Elsa, you don´t have to…"

"Nonsense!" She placed her hand on his wrist. "Georg, please, do allow me to send them a little something. After all, I feel that it is my fault you´ve been away from them for so long! You can take the gifts with you tomorrow," she suggested, giving his hand a squeeze.

It wasn´t entirely her fault, since he had been distanced from his children long before that. The difference had been that, before he did not have any particular reason to go to Vienna other than to stay away from his villa, and, after he reacquainted himself with Elsa, he wanted to be in Vienna because, somehow, he could breathe a little easier when she was around. The challenge now was to bring these two worlds together – the lightness of spirit he felt around Elsa to the heaviness in his chest he felt when in Aigen, surrounded by memories of happier times.

"Why don´t you bring the presents yourself when you come with me the next time?" he suggested.

"Because, my darling, I want to… How can I put it delicately? I must prepare the ground before they meet me."

"Max was right, you are a strategist. A very cunning one!"

"Were those the words he used?" She asked slyly.

"Actually yes," Georg replied.

She laughed. "Then he was kind. He calls me Baroness Machiavelli, you know!" When she stopped, she gazed at him, seriously.

"Do you really have to leave tomorrow?" she pouted. "We´ve been having such a marvelous time here, and I will hate to see you go. I´ll miss you terribly!"

"Yes, I do. I too have to… uh – prepare the ground, as you said so adequately. I have to tell them about you, and right now I have no clue about how I am going to do that. Then there is the small matter of hiring another governess."

"Another?"

"Number eleven. I hope I am successful with this one because, although I do not consider myself a superstitious fellow, the next one, number twelve, will be my last chance. Thirteen never sounded like a good number for me."

"The twelfth governess," she repeated thoughtfully. "It sounds like the title of a Brother´s Grimm Fairy Tale."

"That would be "_The Twelve Dancing Princesses"_, darling," he informed, taking a sip of his wine.

"The Twelve Dancing… Governesses!" she grinned, he grimaced. She continued. "Why not? Maybe you'll be lucky enough so that number twelve will be a princess in disguise; that she´ll kiss one of the frogs the children hide in her bedroom, turning into a prince, charming your children into liking me, and we'll all live happily ever after."

He laughed, mainly at the image of the eleven matronly governesses he had hired so far in the unlikely act of… _dancing_.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 05**

_**Pulling rank**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Not everyone can be an orphan." **_

_**Andre Gide**_

_**ooo**_

The series of pranks had started the day before the tenth governess fled. First the children stole the door to her room during the night. The door was found in the stables the next morning, and promptly re-installed. But no one realized that the little devils had removed the doorknob and replaced it by a similar one, so that the first time their governess returned to her room, she was locked inside for hours. That had, apparently, not been enough to make the woman leave, so they resorted to desperate measures. Somehow – and Georg did not even want to think too much about how they had accomplished it – they obtained hundreds of crickets, which they released in the poor woman's room while she slept. After that, it had taken all of Frau Schmidt's powers of persuasion in order to convince the weeping governess not to leave so late at night, and at least wait until morning.

The children were now lined before him, wearing their dark blue sailor suits. He paced in front of the line, back and forth, looking at every one of them.

"_Agathe, my love, how did you do it?_" he murmured inwardly.

There were seven of them, their ages ranging from five to sixteen. Six children in different phases of their childhood, with different needs, requiring different kinds of attention. The seventh, Liesl, could hardly be considered a child anymore, although he did not know how to treat her any differently. She was 16, and, at that age, Georg´s mother was already married and pregnant with his older brother, who had died in his infancy. However, it was impossible to think about his eldest daughter in those terms. In the opposite end of the line there was little Gretl, age five. Georg felt just as helpless with her, he hardly remembered himself at that age.

The worst part is that perhaps they knew all that, they knew about his inadequacies. At least they sensed it. And for a man who was used to command and inspire authority, a man known for his intellectual capabilities, it was something too hard to digest.

Liesl, looked at him challengingly. Friedrich's eyes conveyed a certain anger that he would never dare to put into words. Louisa's gaze was accusing – "_we would not have to go through this if it weren't for you_," her eyes told him very clearly. The four youngest looked just… frightened of him, as usual. There were crickets scattered all over the house, and the sound of one of the annoying little insects broke the silence. He stopped pacing immediately. Brigitta giggled, and he saw the other children fighting hard to prevent themselves from laughing. Only three years ago, he would not only have encouraged that, he would join them.

Their mood seemed to change after that. They eyed him expectantly. He knew precisely what they were waiting for, an hour long lecture during wish he would lash out at them. Oddly enough, they looked like they were actually _looking forward _to it. It was a possibility that he had been examining in his mind. It was baffling, but true, and he did not know yet how to deal with that new realization: they _wanted_ him to lecture them for hours with all his sea captain´s fury. They wanted his time and attention, even in that distorted manner.

O-ho, but he would not give them that. He would not be so easily manipulated. It did not mean that they would have their proper punishment. No, that would come quickly.

Actually, their penance was due to arrive in about ten minutes. The eleventh governess – he could not help but smile secretly when he thought about the woman. Number eleven was a graduate from the University of Vienna, with an advanced degree in child psychology. Her field of expertise was what she called _troublesome children_. To add to the woman´s impressive curriculum was the fact that she was also a professor at the University of Graz, who had taken a two year sabbatical leave to do some field work and get in touch with the subjects of her extensive researches. True, he was not quite sure he wanted his children to be viewed as laboratory rats, but, as things were, desperate measures were necessary. If such a highly qualified expert in education did not fix his children, then he would not know what else to do. But apparently the woman had succeeded before, and his was not, by far, the worst case she had ever encountered. When he interviewed her during a telephone call while he was still in Vienna, she took a great deal of pride in the fact that she had successfully _reformed_ problem children in a handful of other families. Her voice alone was frightening enough, and he hoped she looked as formidable as she sounded.

He stopped pacing. His smile was just like a Cheshire cat´s, and that was enough to alert his eldest daughter. His face hardened immediately, and he chastised himself, remembering that, until recently, he was much better at hiding his emotions.

"Father?"

He stopped in front of her.

"Yes, Liesl?"

"Permission to speak freely."

"Granted."

His daughter visibly relaxed, but still kept the stiff military posture he demanded of them in such occasions.

"It is about our presents. They are lovely, father, really liked them."

"Yes," Friedrich, in line next to his sister agreed. "We only would like to thank you."

"Mmmm…"

In the end, Elsa convinced him to bring the gifts to the children. He had to congratulate himself, mentally, for the fact that his choice for a bride was an extremely intelligent woman. Apparently, the presents were a success, because, in spite of the little information Elsa had about each one of his children, she had somehow managed to choose a gift for each of them that was entirely perfect. Max had probably helped her with the task, he had no doubted about it.

And now they wanted to thank him!

It was the ultimate proof (as if he needed any) that the seven of them were, above all, Agathe´s children, having more of her traits than his own... At least the good ones. They wanted to thank him for beautiful gifts he had _not_ chosen for them, for presents he was not giving them, that he had not even seen. He did not know how to deal with that, he had no clue about how to reach them – finally, what was worst of all, he didn´t know if he wanted to reach them. Yet, telling them the truth was unavoidable.

"Those gifts were not from me, children," he said sharply.

"No?" several of them murmured in unison, disappointment etched in their faces.

"I thought I made that clear when I gave them to you."

"You didn´t, father."

Kurt was right, he hadn´t. He had instructed that the gifts should be taken to the nursery as soon as they arrived, and never bothered with them again until now.

"Who are they from, father?" Louisa asked him suspiciously. "Uncle Max? Aunt Alicia?"

"Baroness Elsa von Schraeder sent them to you." He looked at his eldest daughter's expression – it was something akin to his – brooding. He addressed the remaining children, "And you should all write her a thank you note."

"Baroness _who?_" asked Brigitta. He ignored the question, resuming his pacing.

"_Who_ is this Baroness Schraeder?" Louisa insisted, ignoring his faint attempt to let the matter drop.

He sighed impatiently. Realistically, he knew that there was no way he would be able to avoid that question. On the other hand, the sooner they became aware of Elsa´s existence, the better.

"She is… she _was_ a good friend of your mother´s." That was all his children needed to know for the moment, and that was all he would tell them.

"A good friend? I don´t remember her being at the funeral," Liesl said, narrowing her eyes, her lips becoming tighter as well.

"Neither do I," echoed Friedrich.

"She wasn´t there. She couldn´t - she… lost her husband around that time." He didn't have to ask what his daughter thought, he could see it in her eyes – she felt betrayed. He knew that she undoubtedly knew what his intentions were. She was, after all, his daughter and she could read between the lines of what he was and wasn't saying.

But Brigitta translated it into words with the usual accuracy.

"She is a widow like you!"

"Why is she sending us presents now?" Louisa asked. "She does not even know us."

"_This could turn out better than I expected at first,_" he thought. They were giving him the ammunition that he needed to introduce the idea of a new marriage, and he decided to take advantage of it.

"No, she doesn´t know you, Louisa, not yet. But she knows _me_, and she knew your mother very well. They were friends when they were children, and she was a bridesmaid in our wedding."

"Is she the pretty blonde?" Marta asked innocently.

"Uh – _the pretty blonde_? What do you mean, Marta?" he demanded to know. How could the six year old know that Elsa was blond? All he knew was that the answer had everything to do with the warning looks the elder children were giving her now.

"She means the one in the wedding picture," Gretl replied candidly.

Quickly, he scanned the line of children. Liesl was biting her lips, Friedrich had actually closed his eyes in exasperation. Louisa was glaring at her younger sisters, Kurt was looking up, badly pretending he wasn´t paying attention to the conversation, acting as if he would start whistling at any second. Only Brigitta met his eyes, bravely.

They knew the rule only too well. Not a single photograph of Agathe was allowed in the house. They were all either in that locked drawer of his desk in his study, or stored in boxes in the attic, also under lock and key. Nearly three years had passed since their mother´s death, Marta and Gretl were little more than toddlers at the time. There was no manner in which they could possibly have seen the wedding picture at that early age and still remember the details. And if there was, he fully intended to find out how had they managed it. Had they been going through their mother´s things without his knowledge or permission?

"Brigitta?" he pointed his finger at her.

"Yes, father?"

"The wedding photograph. Where is it?"

Brigitta looked lost only for a moment. When the answer came to her, she was so relieved her face lit up.

"We don´t have it here. Gromi showed us last Easter, when we went to visit her in the Innsbruck house, remember?"

Yes, he remembered the occasion.

_Gromi_ was how the children affectionately called their maternal grandmother. Although she and her husband lived in England, they spent a good part of the year in Innsbruck, where they owned an estate. Whenever their grandparents were in Austria, he would send the children packing to visit them for a few days – it was easier and better than to tolerate guests in his villa. Well, at least he had to be proud of his eleven year old daughter. It was a flawless answer, one that he could not possibly question. Perhaps he should not have chosen her to interrogate, perhaps he should try Friedrich, who was the worst liar of them all.

"Yes!" Betraying himself completely the fourteen year old nearly shouted, triumphantly, undoubtedly pleased with Brigitta´s quick thinking. "She showed us many pictures of you and mother when you were younger."

"She did, didn´t she," he sneered.

"Yes, father, it´s true," Liesl serenely admitted. "Gromi showed us lots of photographs, including one of you being decorated by the Emperor. She wanted us to bring it with us, but we said that you probably would… not… like it."

"Mmmm…"

Yes, he _certainly_ would not like it.

Their story was convincing, but Friedrich´s reaction was still suspicious. Never mind any of that now. Number eleven would help him to unveil the rest of the tale.

He cleared his throat before addressing the children again.

"Now, where were we? Yes. Baroness Schraeder and her marvelous gifts. You would like to know, Marta and Gretl, that she _is_ indeed the pretty blonde one in the wedding photograph. She sent you those presents because…" his hesitation was brief, but noticeable. "…she feels bad about not being around when your mother became ill, and she would love to meet you all. In fact…"

"So _that_ is where you go when you are in Vienna," interrupted Marta. "To visit this Baroness!"

He did not deny it.

"It is one of the reasons, yes."

"Is she going to be our new mother?" He turned to his youngest daughter in surprise. Five year old Gretl, in her childlike innocence, had hit the target. He could almost feel the older children holding their breaths, waiting for his answer. He could not lie to them. He had never lied to his children, and he was not about to start now.

"That is a little early to say, Gretl," he said, speaking in a softer voice he often used to address his youngest girls. "First you have to meet her. Then, you must like her."

"What if we meet her and we don´t like her?" Marta asked.

He paused for a moment.

"You will, Marta, I am sure you will."

"Mother used to say that we should not like a person only because we are told to, or only if she brings us nice presents," recited Brigitta.

"Yes, Brigitta, I remember everything that your mother used to say, and she was right most of the time," he spoke rapidly, "_but I do not need to be reminded of any of it,_" he added in thought. "I am sure you will have plenty of reasons to like Elsa – that is, Baroness Schraeder."

"When we are going to meet her?" Kurt asked.

"Does that mean you are taking us to Vienna?" Brigitta asked, her eyes shining.

"No, it does not," he replied curtly. "But you'll meet her soon enough."

He forgot about what he was about to say next when his butler entered the drawing room.

"Yes, Franz?"

"Frau Reisenberger has arrived, Captain."

He turned to his children. "Back in line, all of you. Stand straight. Let us march to the foyer. It is time for you to meet your new governess."

Captain von Trapp was not so easily fooled. Not with years of strict military training behind him. He would not underestimate his sons and daughters, not ever again.

A _war_ had been declared.

Baroness Eberfeld needed not to fear, she was not one of the attractive ones.

Frau Reisenberger – or number eleven, as Georg would always remember her, stood obediently before them. In spite of all her outstanding qualifications and her academic degrees, she looked no different than most of her ten predecessors, which made him wonder if there was some kind of code book governess lived by, because they all looked and sounded the same to him.

He introduced her to his children, calling them by their respective whistle signs. He left after that, as he usually did, to allow his new employee to get better acquainted with her charges. It was the eleventh time he performed that very same routine, and the next step was to go to his study… and wait.

Two hours later, number eleven barged into his private sanctuary, without even bothering to knock. Frau Helga Reisenberger, professor of Psychology at the University of Graz, started bellowing at the top of her lungs that she would not stay another minute in that house. Not after being locked in her room with various spiders and snakes as her company, not to mention a ghost, rattling currents and all, inside her closet. The children must have been uninspired, he thought, because they had already used those same tricks.

"_Governess number seven, I believe_," he recalled, feeling strangely calm under the circumstances.

If there was one thing he had learned was that they never used the same prank twice.

"Enough is enough," he said, slamming his fist against his desk, after the woman left, carrying a generous check to compensate her for the trouble the children caused.

It was time to try a different approach. Time to forget the list of highly recommended governesses. No more academics, no more widows of impoverished noblemen…

As usually, the new strategy was carefully planned.

All eleven governesses had been hired taking into account their impeccable qualifications, and vast experience. They all had worked for the most aristocratic families in Europe, they had helped in the education of noblemen, diplomats, even royalty… They had all been hired because they had the best possible references, some of them referred to him by old time friends who employed their services. Not one of them had been able to handle his children, they had all fallen victim to their pranks. And the reason, so he believed, was because all of them lacked the skill that would be needed in handling his children: the ability to install and maintain discipline.

Discipline. Order. Decorum.

And Captain Georg von Trapp knew of only two institutions where the ideals of discipline, order, and decorum were the golden rule, the vary basis upon which they were built. One of them was the late Austrian Imperial Navy, of which he had been one of the most distinguished members.

The other was the Benedictine Abbey of Nonnberg.

Since finding a governess from the Austrian Navy was an utter, impossibility, he, all he was left with was Nonnberg…

He started writing the Mother Abbess a letter.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 06**

_**The Black Sheep of Nonnberg Abbey**_

_**ooo**_

_**"**__**How soft the music of those village bells,  
>Falling at interval upon the ear<br>In cadence sweet; now dying all away,  
>Now pealing loud again, and louder still,<br>Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!  
>With easy force it opens all the cells<br>Where Memory slept."  
><strong>_

_**William Cowper **_

_**ooo**_

"_**A bell is no bell 'til you ring it.**_

_**A song is no song 'til you sing it.**_

_**And love in your heart wasn't put there to stay.**_

_**Love isn't love 'til you give it away."**_

_**Rodgers & Hammerstein, The Sound of Music**_

_**ooo**_

The girl was running up the 144 steps of the _Nonnberg Stiege _at a maddening speed. She was late, hopelessly, inexcusably late. There was an immense list of chores waiting for her in the convent, and now, with the precious half hour she had lost, she would never be able to accomplish everything before the day was over. To make matters worse, she had missed the morning prayers, something unheard of for a postulant. She should expect a heavy penance for it. It was fortunate that she had fallen into the good graces of the Reverend Mother; otherwise she would have been expelled from Nonnberg long ago.

There was no excuse, it was all her fault. When she woke up at down and looked outside the window of her cell, she was lost. The day was so beautiful, it felt like such a sin to stay inside instead of going out only for a moment, to admire God´s work and say a prayer of thanks because she was so privileged to be able to enjoy such an earthly paradise. She had not planned to walk so far, at least not at first. All right, she admitted that she felt tempted to ride the bus to the Untersberg and climb her favorite mountain, but it would take too much of her time.

She settled for the Mönchsberg instead.

As usual, she forgot herself among the many pathways crossing the hill. Singing, she lost track of the time. In the Abbey, they never allowed the postulants to sing freely. It was terribly restrictive, and one of the few things she did not quite like about her religious life. But out there, in the hills she loved so much, she could sing freely, playing with her whole vocal range. Only when she heard the bells announcing the morning prayers, she realized how late she was. All she could do was to grab her discarded wimple and run as fast as her legs could carry her.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she did not even allow herself a moment to breathe. Her only thought was to go back to the Abbey as soon as possible, preferably unnoticed – that is, if she could manage that kind of miracle. She crossed the stone paved street not bothering to look left or right…

The car missed her by mere inches. If she arrived another second later, it would have hit her squarely, and no she would be singing at the top of her lungs and exploring her vocal range with the angels in heaven above. Naturally she was being a little too optimistic. Some of the nuns would accuse her of the sin of pride if they heard her uttering such nonsense. The best she could expect at the moment would be the purgatory, where she would be talking incessantly; trying to convince whoever was in charge that she deserved a place in heaven.

In all fairness, she did not think the driver even saw her. She barely had the time to jump back, badly bruising her backside when she fell alongside the road. Looking angrily towards the curve where the car was about to disappear, she caught the briefest glimpse of him: a man in a fashionable fedora in what looked like a very expensive automobile. She cursed and uttered a quick prayer, asking for forgiveness, ending it with a sign of the cross. Then she thanked God because she was still alive and in one piece. Whatever punishment was reserved for her before the end of the day, it could not be worse than walking to an early grave.

Well, an early grave was where that man would be headed to, if he continued driving so fast.

The madman!

He drove like a maniac, and she wondered where he was going in such a hurry. Was his wife having a baby and he was looking for a doctor? If that were the case, he would not find one anywhere near Nonnberg, he was headed in the wrong direction. Was somebody dying and he needed a priest for the last rites? He would not find one in Nonnberg either, not at this hour. The priest who conducted the morning Mass would have already left at this hour.

Shaking her head, she looked down at her habit, accessing the damage. It wasn´t bad, really, she had been very lucky. She stood up, straightening herself. There was another noticeable tear in one of the sleeves, and she moaned. She could be scowled at if one of the nuns saw it, but she would not have the time to mend it until the end of the day.

Limping a little at first, she walked the rest of the way to the gate. The automobile was there, parked underneath the old oak tree. She had been right in her quick first impression when it almost run over her – it was the most elegant car she had ever seen. Undoubtedly it belonged to a distinguished gentleman, and she could not help but wonder what he would be doing in the Abbey. Her curiosity was picked. There was only one possibility she could think of. Would the nuns be allowed another grand wedding in the chapel? If so, she could not help but being excited. Such occasions were so rare. The chapel was beautiful, and couples frequently asked for permission to have weddings there. However, it was a privilege that was rarely granted by the Mother Abbess.

Big wedding or not, she could not help being extremely angry at the potential groom. Her attention was back to the automobile, and she let out an expletive. In her old days as a tomboy, she would be more than glad to empty all of the four tires of the car belonging to a man who, apparently, had no regard for human life. Hers, at least. Well, if she were not so late, she would do that anyway, just to drive him as insanely mad as he had driven her. That would teach the maniac to conduct his vehicle at a decent speed.

Still mumbling against the mad driver, she rang the bell at the gate. Sister Augusta came to open it, and she sighed in relief. The censorious look the old nun cast her was frightening, but at least she did not say a word. She could not say anything at all – the old sister had made a vow of silence, and had said a word in years.

As soon as she was out of Sister Augusta´s ominous sight, she started running again, towards the patio. At first, she thought she was alone. She run to the well and treated herself to large gulps of water. It was a hot day, she´d been running up and down the Mönchsberg for hours, singing loudly. Then a madman wearing a fedora nearly run over her with his very expensive automobile. _Thirsty_ did not even begin to describe what she was feeling. Buckets and buckets of cold water would not be enough to cool her flared temper, or her body.

Some sixth sense told her that she was no longer alone. She turned around slowly, water still dripping from her face…

It was bad, very bad. It was the worst scenario she could possibly have imagined.

There were six or seven nuns watching her. Among them Sister Berthe, the Mistress of the Novices, Sister Margaretta, the Mistress of the Postulants. At last, but not least, at the center of the group, the Reverend Mother herself. It was a reception committee worthy of her worst nightmares.

But there was someone else. Some sixth sense warned her about another presence to her right, a very discernible prickling in the back of her neck. With the corner of her eye she saw him – no, she saw his shadow moving among the archways of the patio, fedora and all. It could only be _him_, the mad driver.

"Show yourself, you sneaky coward," she wanted to yell. And when he did, obeying what she hoped would be a superior, commanding tone; she would give him a piece of her mind.

Her little reverie never became a reality, simply because she had bigger worries. Sister Berthe was looking her so viciously that for a moment she wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow her. The highest ranked nuns of Nonnberg Abbey were there, watching her like hawks, having caught her in the act of the latest of her many transgressions. There could be trouble ahead… Judging by the severe look in their eyes, there _would_ be trouble ahead.

What could she do?

Just the best in the worst possible situation. Resigned, she managed an apologetic weak smile, she shrugged. Then she ran from the patio, as fast as she could.

There was one thing Captain Georg _Ritter_ von Trapp had not been able to shut out after the death of his wife – the pealing of Salzburg's church bells.

He was granted the relief of not being able to hear them in his villa, but whenever he had to go to town – which he now avoided as much as possible – he was greeted with the sounds. And with their clanging came the memories, and the angst. Even Elsa's extraordinary diplomatic talent would be completely useless against the sound of those bells. He sought refuge from them in Vienna, but there, in the heart of Salzburg, he was helpless to their melodic noise.

Agathe loved the sound of the bells – it had been one of the reasons they lived so close to Salzburg. She had told him of her fond memories of visiting the city as a child, and how she had fallen in love with it because the wonderful tolls of the bells could be heard everywhere. Sometimes, she would ask him to stay in town just for a few more minutes so that she could hear their melodies before they drove back to Aigen.

"_I want this to be the last sound I hear before I die_," she had said once.

_The _last_ sound? _

He had rolled his eyes, then scolded her for being overly dramatic, assuring her that not only he would be the first one to go, but also that she would probably live to be one hundred years old. He had further teased her that by the time she was a hundred she wouldn't be able to hear the person speaking to her, much less all the bells of Salzburg.

"_Besides_," he finally added after a scolding look from her, "_I like to believe that the last sound you wanted to hear would be the sound of my voice whispering in your ear about the things I would like to do when we are finally alone again_." His taunt had earned him a playful slap to his arm, and some alone time with his wife.

But there were other memories as well.

Their three youngest children had been born in Salzburg, and he remembered the pealing bells after their christening. The bells also rang joyful tones when the eldest had taken their first communion. And in each and every one of these occasions, she had been by his side, her hand in his arm. Sometimes, she would take his hand in hers, their fingers entwining – the maximum display of affection he had allowed himself to take with her in public during such occasions. Such conventions seemed so ridiculous now. If he could only go back and change a few things, only to be able to kiss her once more, hold her hand just once more. How much he ached to hold her in their marriage bed once again. The few nights in their marriage in which they had gone to bed angry, separately, he would gladly erase. What he wouldn't give to beg for her forgiveness if only to have her in his arms. What he wouldn't give to have her again.

Right after she had been pronounced dead the _Sterbeglocke_ from the Aigen church had pealed three times, because she was a woman, then one time for each of the thirty-two years she had lived. And then, the first time he heard the Salzburg bells after her death, the ache had been too great to overcome. He was in the _Altstadt_, just outside the door of an antiquary, owned by his good friend Erik Drasche (1) – or _Hans Schneider,_ as he insisted being called nowadays. The bell above the door to the shop had only been a prelude to the bells of Salzburg that had begun ringing momentarily afterward. He had been too overcome with grief to even stay and speak with his friend. No, instead, he fled the city, driving endlessly for hours, and then finally drowning his sorrows in his study and a bottle of bourbon.

He stood there at the iron gates of the Benedictine Abbey of Nonnberg, listening to the bell's last tolls before ringing the bell announcing his arrival (2). He had been there only once before years ago, with Agathe, not too long after they had moved to Aigen, in the outskirts of Salzburg. They wanted to make a donation to the orphanage, and they had been received by the Reverend Mother. He was not even sure that his presence would be welcome, but his wife – who knew far more than he did about convents - replied instantly:

"_Why not? Those poor nuns would starve if their Mother Abbess was forbidden to deal with men. The cloister is a living, breathing entity, darling, it must support itself. The Reverend Mother is not merely their religious leader, she is their... _Captain_, as well, in every sense of the word_!"

He still remembered his first impression of the elderly nun - kindness, patience, and wisdom personified. After the visit was over, she showed them around the whole convent, including the museum and archives. She had not taken them to the purely feminine and sheltered environment of the _Klausur_, no one but the members of the fraternity were allowed there. Agathe had returned many times since that day, since she had taken an instant liking to the Reverend Mother, but he had never seen the woman again, often sending his apologies for his absence with his wife. However, they had corresponded, at least while Agathe was alive – and she frequently inquired about the welfare of his children.

A very old nun soon appeared, walking very slowly, and he shifted his weight from one leg to another, impatiently, the typical sign of a man who was accustomed to having people wait for him than the other way around. The woman did not say anything, but just looked at him, questioningly. He knew that some of the cloistered nuns made a vow of silence, and had not spoken for years, so he decided to be the first one to speak.

"I'm Captain Georg von Trapp. I am here to see the Mother Abbess. She is expecting me."

The silent nun nodded, her expression impassive. Then she disappeared again, without a gesture. Another nun appeared, moments later – this one quite different. She was tall and thin and walked briskly, in a somewhat military manner. Her face did not have any of the old nun's gentility – it was sour, like if she were permanently displeased about something.

"_I wager this one enjoys using a ruler in the young novice's knuckles,"_ he thought. He also thought that someone like her would be able to fix his children – in his mind, this nun, whatever her name was, was already very close to being the ideal governess. No doubt the Mother Abbess would be able to help him. Mentally, he congratulated himself on the success of his excursion.

"I am Sister Berthe, Mistress of Novices here at Nonnberg. The Reverend Mother is indeed expecting you, Captain von Trapp." She opened the iron gates. "She will see you in her study."

"Thank you, Sister Berthe."

He had already explained most of his situation in the letter he had sent a week ago, requesting an audience with the Mother Abbess. He wrote it shortly after dismissing the 11th governess. However, he felt that seeing the woman personally was essential. As he followed the nun, they crossed a large, high walled courtyard. There, tending to a vase of pink roses, was the Reverend Mother – several years had passed since he had last seen her, but he recognized her instantly. When they approached, she did not even wait for Sister Berthe to make the proper introductions, and extended him her hand.

"Captain von Trapp, what an honor it is to meet you again, at last!"

"The honor is all mine, Mother Abbess." He reverently kissed the elder woman's hand.

"Oh please, it is not every day that we have the pleasure of having a naval hero in our Abbey. I am only sorry I have to meet you here. You see, I trust no one else to tend to these flowers, and I have so little time to do that myself."

"The roses are quite magnificent, I am very much impressed." He eyed the antique vase – Roman or Greek, he could not be sure -, noting that he had seen a similar one many years ago in Erik's shop.

"Thank you, they are my pride and joy. And it seems that they respond to me, and to me only. Just like your ship answers only to your commands, Captain."

"The ship is no more, Reverend Mother. And what is a Captain without a ship?"

"A Captain like you, Baron von Trapp, will _always_ have a ship anchored somewhere." She sighed, as he remained impassive. "If you don´t look for them, they will look for you. There is a little something I always say to my young postulants: _"When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window_""

He smiled condescendingly, not wanting to contradict the Mother Abbess. She may be known for her wisdom, but she knew nothing, or very little, about life outside the high convent walls. She knew nothing of his life, about everything that he'd had, and everything that he had lost. If she were any of his friends, he would have already retorted with a biting remark, but the knowing expression in the woman's face told him that, somehow, she knew he would do just that. He felt absurdly at a loss for words.

"Come, let us walk to my study, where we can talk more privately," she urged.

They crossed the courtyard again, but as soon as they reached the archways that surrounded it, they were interrupted by no less than three nuns, walking rapidly. The sour faced one, who had opened the gates to him, and two others he had not yet met. One had a saintly expression in her face, not so much different from the Reverend Mother's, but lacking the air of maturity and wisdom. They were both followed by a young nun, who also had a very worried look on her face.

"Reverend Mother?"

"Sister Bernice?" The woman gave a small curtsy to the Reverend Mother. "I am afraid this will have to wait until later."

"With all due respect, Mother, I must insist. This might be urgent." The younger woman looked up, the Captain noting the worry in her eyes. At the Reverend Mother's nod to continue, the younger woman cried, "We are missing one of them. I simply cannot find her."

"Who are you looking for, my child?"

"Maria!"

The Mother Abbess looked heavenward, and turned to the Captain.

"I am sorry, Captain, could you excuse us just for a moment. I am afraid life here at the convent is not as quiet and peaceful as people usually imagine. It seems that one of my lambs has wandered to greener pastures. I really must take care of this little… problem."

"Certainly," the Captain bowed, and stepped aside, to allow the nuns to speak freely. But he still heard bits and pieces of their conversation, while pacing around the arches.

"She's missing from the Abbey again."

"Perhaps we should have put a cowbell around her neck," the sour faced sun suggested wryly. The suggestion made him smile – yes, he did like Sister Berthe. She would have made a great submarine commander.

"Have you tried the barn? You know how much she adores the animals," the saintly nun suggested.

"I have looked everywhere, in all of the usual places," replied the young nun.

"Sister Bernice, considering that it's Maria, I suggest you look in someplace _unusual_,_"_the Mother Abbess suggested.

Sister Bernice nodded and walked away. When she passed him and cast him a worried glance. For a moment he thought she was about to ask him if he had seen _her_, whoever she was, but the young nun merely shrugged and moved on quickly.

As soon as she saw the Captain disappearing behind the arches of the courtyard, the Mother Abbess turned her attention back to the nuns surrounding her.

"Well, Reverend Mother, I hope this new infraction ends whatever doubts you may still have about Maria's future here."

"I always try to keep faith in my doubts, Sister Berthe." She cast a worried glance to the brooding Captain, as he walked away, hands behind his back, his military stance rigid. He certainly was not a man who was accustomed to waiting, and she hoped he would not be annoyed by the interruption. She knew what he wanted, but at the same time, she doubted she could help him – in fact, she had prayed for guidance only that morning.

"After all, the wool of a black sheep is just as warm!"

Sister Berthe interrupted her briskly. "We are not talking about sheep, black or white, Sister Margaretta. Of all the candidates for the novitiate I would say that Maria is the least likely…"

"Children, children." She nodded towards the Captain, and lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "Do you see that man over there? That gentleman has done more for our beloved country than anyone else I know. He is also one of this convent's greatest benefactors. Without his and his late wife´s generosity we would have been forced to close the orphanage long ago. Now it is he who needs our urgent help, in a matter concerning his children, and the least I can do is listen to him. So, could we please leave this – _Maria problem_ – for some other time?"

"I understand, Reverent Mother, but with all due respect," Sister Berthe insisted. "You've all been so keen about Maria, from the start, and I never quite understood that. She came to us without a single reference or anyone to speak for her character. And she's been nothing but _trouble_! She is outspoken, brash, and downright disrespectful to any kind of higher authority."

"It is not our place to judge her, Sister Berthe. Maria came to us seeking to know the Lord, and who are we to turn her away?" Sister Margaretta argued.

More nuns gathered now, attracted by the argument.

The Reverend Mother silenced the commotion with a gesture, then proceeded to explain the situation to the new arrivals. "We were speculating about the qualifications of some of our postulants. The Mistress of Novices and the Mistress of Postulants were trying to help me by expressing opposite points of view. Tell me, Sister Catherine, what do you think of... Maria?"

"She's a wonderful girl... some of the time."

"Sister Agatha?"

"It's very easy to like Maria... except when it's, uh, difficult."

"And you, Sister Sophia?"

"Oh, I love her very dearly. But she always seems to be in trouble, doesn't she?"

"_Exactly_ what I say!" said Sister Berthe.

The nuns were now engaged in a debate, which the Captain continued watching, in fascination, as he, once again, reviewed every misconception he had about life in a convent. And to think that he believed all the members of the Order were models of restraint and decorum! They continued to talk about the_ Black Sheep of Nonnberg_ for a while. Distracted by an old inscription in Latin he found on a wall, he stopped paying attention to whatever they said about the nefarious black sheep in question. It was none of his business – why would he care about the Abbey's troubles?

Any one of these women would make a fine addition to his household staff. His letter made it clear to her precisely what he wanted – someone who could take care of his children, someone who would stand firm to them, and the reason for his presence today was to stress the point. He was startled by a door slamming, followed by quick footsteps. But when he walked around the column to see what was going on, the commotion was over. He wondered if it had been the black sheep who had finally wandered home. The nuns were quietly scattering, walking in that steady, calm pace.

The Reverend Mother signaled to him, and he walked towards her.

"I am sorry for the disruption, Captain. As you see, I too have difficulty running a tight ship myself."

"And yet, you do a remarkable job. Which is precisely why I sought your help and advice, Reverend Mother. I only hope I am not disturbing you. I am afraid I caught you at a bad time."

"Not at all, Captain. It is nothing but an ordinary day. Some of these girls need more guidance and discipline than others. It does not mean that they are necessarily bad, only… a little lost, perhaps." The Captain remained silent. "But Captain, I would do anything to help you and your family. You and your dear wife – May God bless her soul – did so much for us, and you still do. Whatever we can do to help..."

"Reverend Mother, as I said briefly in my letter…"

_A/N: (1) Hans Schneider in the previous version of my TSOM stories. (2) The Captain inside the Abbey – would that be even possible? With the help of "maxisback" I discovered that the answer is yes. Nonnberg is a Benedictine Abbey, and their rules are not so strict. With the exception of the Klausur, men are indeed allowed inside, and can even be received by the Reverend Mother in her study. _


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 07**

_**Where there is a will, there is a way**_

**ooo**

"_**If someone wants a sheep, then that means that he exists." **_

_**Antoine de Saint-Exúpery.**_

_**ooo**_

_**"Desire makes everything blossom; possession makes everything wither and fade."**_

_**Marcel Proust**_

_**ooo**_

The Reverend Mother smiled, and murmured a silent _thank you_ to the Lord, for her prayers had been answered and He had sent her the guidance that she needed to help Captain Georg von Trapp. And the good Lord had been so cunningly clever that, at the same time, He provided her with the answer on how to deal with another problem: _Maria_.

The illustrious Captain von Trapp believed that his children needed _discipline_. She presumed that he had told himself that so many times, and that he had been told by his peers that discipline was the only way to raise so many children; he had actually begun to believe it. However, in her mind, what those children needed was something entirely different. Maybe, just maybe, the real problem was… too much discipline. The von Trapp children needed _life_ to be brought back to their home – at least by someone who would help them to deal with the grief of their loss without forgetting that they deserved to go on living. And what the children needed the young postulant she had in mind had in abundance.

Maria was no stranger to grief – the little that she had gathered from the young woman about her past was enough to convince her that she would understand the children's loss. She had come to the abbey in her early twenties, informing the Reverend Mother that she had no living relatives. Feeling compassion for the young woman, the Reverend mother took her in, with the firm belief that the Lord had placed Maria in her care for a reason. As the time passed, she noted that the young postulant had an enthusiasm for life, a compassionate spirit, and a very vivid imagination. However, she also noted that Maria needed discipline. She wasn't sure if it was her free spirit that needed taming, or if it needed to be set free. The Reverend Mother needed to know if Maria had the right qualities to become a nun, and if she would be able to live with all the inevitable restrictions that would be imposed upon her, if she decided to devote her life to the cloister.

The situation was just too perfect. It would be an enormous risk, but one that the Reverend Mother was more than willing to take. If she lost, she would lose not only Maria, but the trust that Captain von Trapp had placed in her. On the other hand, if she won - she gazed heavenward, with a beaming smile – if she won she would be reassured, once more, that her own decision to become a nun had been the right one, for once more she would had helped to fulfill God´s will. Maria would find her right path in life, whatever that path was, and those children would find a reason to smile again – and maybe even find their father.

Usually, the Mother Abbess did not have the time or the inclination to take any personal interests in the candidates to the novitiate at Nonnberg Abbey. Running the convent, helping it to survive in such difficult days, with all the changes that the world was going through, took up most of her time – it was no different than running a large estate. To watch over the girls, she always counted on Sister Berthe and Sister Margaretta, who reported to her often, and whenever they felt her guidance was needed.

Maria, however, had been an exception from the beginning – a veritable pebble in their shoes, according to some of the most conservative members of the fraternity. Nonnberg had always been one of the most important and most prestigious Benedictine convents in Europe. No candidate simply walked in there and announced at the top of her lungs that she would like to be a part of their fraternity – it was like walking inside the Vatican and announcing that one wanted to become a Cardinal. Postulants arrived usually by recommendation from another equally distinguished convent. Maria ignored all that – she just rang their doorbell and said simply that she wanted to speak to the Reverend Mother because she wanted to join the Abbey. She had no references, no family to speak for her – she was alone in the world. She had arrived in Salzburg with not a penny in her pocket, and only with the directions to look for an onion shaped tower on top of a hill.

The sisters tried to send her away, of course, but the girl had stubbornly refused to leave.

"_I have no where else to go, you __must__ let me stay_," Maria had pleaded. "_You just have to! Please, don´t send me away. I don´t know what will become of me if you don´t let me in._"

Sister Margaretta´s tender heart had ached for the girl, and she ran to the Reverend Mother´s study that day, informing her that they had a situation at the main gate that needed to be solved. In a few words, she told her what was happening.

"_She is a brave and bold girl_," she had said, after Sister Margaretta finished her tale, adding that Maria was so thin that she looked like she had not eaten in days. "_So young and all alone in the world. We simply cannot let her walk out without at least trying to do something for her. It would be against all the vows we all took to be here_."

"_But Reverend Mother, Sister Berthe_…" Sister Margaretta began, but her superior did not allow the interruption.

"… _is not a very good judge of character, I´m afraid, although she does have other remarkable virtues, Sister Margaretta. But this girl… Only from what you told me… she reminds me of myself when I was her age. I have a feeling I would like her, whether or not she is an asset to this Abbey. Please, do send her in_," the Reverend Mother had told Sister Margaretta.

The younger nun silently left. Less than ten minutes later, Maria walked in. One hour later, she was admitted as a postulant to Nonnberg Abbey. The few clothes and personal belongings that she carried with her were given to the poor. The young girl's desperation had been evident.

"_My only options were to buy a meal or buy a train ticket to Salzburg. I chose Salzburg – and Nonnberg_. _Salzburg has always been my home, and I knew the good Lord would provide for me somehow._" Maria had explained. After summoning the Mistress of Postulants, Maria had been taken to the robbing room to receive her postulant attire, and then she been properly fed.

Yes, she had been much more trouble than they had asked for. The nuns honestly believed, at first, that she would eventually _stop talking_ after the excitement of having been admitted to Nonnberg faded away. Yet, that never happened. Not a day would go by that the Reverend Mother didn't hear what Maria was up to _again_. Apparently, obeying even the simplest rule was quite a task for the girl, and the Reverend Mother could not help but wonder if she had ever been adequately disciplined by her parents. The girl was completely unable to do something as simple as going up or down a stairway without finding her own, often outrageous, way of accomplishing the task. She made a unique adventure of every job she had to perform, and, although, there were times when it had been her duty to admonish, or even punish her, the Reverend Mother never failed to be secretly amused.

That morning had been no exception, but the timing had been excellent. With her busy schedule, the Mother Abbess would never have considered the possibility of placing Maria in charge of the von Trapp children if she had not disappeared again, right at the same time she was about to speak to the Captain.

"I think I know just the person who might be able to help your children, Captain," the Reverend Mother had assured him, after the Captain finished his lecture, punctuated with such words as discipline, order, and decorum and half a dozen others Navy jargons she could barely comprehend.

"Is this person qualified?" he asked, uncertain.

The Reverend Mother smiled.

"_All_ of my postulants and novices are adequately educated, Captain. It is not, of course, the kind of education that nobility can afford, but it is nonetheless satisfactory. We even allow them to develop whatever natural talents they might have, as long as it is done within the rules of our community. Most importantly, they are all experienced with children, since they are required to work at the orphanage, and teach in the school."

"But my children are not..." the Captain began to retort, and the Reverend Mother interrupted him gently.

"Your children are _children_ before anything else, Captain. They may be better educated than our poor charges, they may dress and speak more eloquently, but they are children nonetheless. The girl I have in mind has certainly never worked as a governess, but…"

"Her obvious lack of experience is irrelevant under the circumstances. Naturally I would not be here if that was important," he said, without being able to disguise a slight irritation.

"_Clever,"_ the Reverend Mother thought. Very clever – the Captain was seeing right through her. He had already sensed, somehow, that she had something in mind, that she would not send him _just a governess._

"_Oh well,"_ she thought, "_at least he will not be completely surprised when he meets Maria_."

His voice interrupted her thoughts.

"As I said before, all the governesses I have hired before were extremely well qualified, and came to my home with the best possible recommendations. And yet, none of them were able to help me, or the children." He hesitated for a moment, and then leaned forward in his seat. "Reverend Mother, this is an urgent matter," he stressed. "I have uh - business in Vienna that needs my immediate attention, and naturally I cannot leave the children behind without proper care."

"Ehm – _business_?" the Reverend Mother inquired, sensing his hesitation when he said the word. She could be the leader of one of Austria´s most prestigious religious institutions, but that did not keep her from being curious about the people who sought her for help and advice. Captain von Trapp´s hesitation was visible, and she quickly added. "Oh forgive me, Captain. I tend to be naturally inquisitive with those who seek my counseling. You don´t have to tell me, of course."

"It is all right, Reverend Mother; your question caught me by surprise, that´s all." He then shrugged, relaxing in his chair again. "It is better that you know, since it may help you in your task. The fact is that I am thinking about remarrying."

The Mother Abbess´s eyes widened.

"I see. And are you sure that this will be the best for you and the children?" she asked him boldly. She looked at him intently, as if observing him for the first time.

There was no doubt that the Captain was a fine figure of a man. The Reverend Mother instantly knew that considering his looks only, he would have little or no difficulty finding a wife. He was also very wealthy, and a decorated Naval Officer. But then, there was a matter of his seven children, and it was their presence that she worried about.

Would every woman understand that the children were necessarily tied to their father?

Because no matter how much trouble he was having dealing with them now, they were still his children, given to him by the woman he loved. He _had_ loved Agathe Whitehead, the Reverend Mother had seen it with her very eyes, when they sat together right where he was now, in front of her desk in her study. She had seen the way the Captain looked at his wife, the way he gazed at her as she talked.

"_No_", she thought. "_The woman he marries will have to be strong enough to be a mother of seven children, but also understanding enough to live with the fact that her husband had loved another woman before her, and immensel_y".

The Reverend Mother suddenly had serious doubts that there were too many women that would be up to all that, even in spite of the Captain´s wealth and elegantly handsome looks. It would require much more than love for the man standing in front of her, but she would have to live with his children as well, and, at the same time, feel confident enough not to be threatened by his memories of his first wife. A marriage of convenience would not be enough, even though the man facing her surely thought it would.

The Captain´s voice once more interrupted her reverie. He frowned.

"I am quite sure that it will the best for us all."

She gazed at him for a moment.

"I am pleased to hear that, Captain. But I must ask of you to think very carefully." This time he was unable to hide his discomfort, but before he could say anything, she began to speak again. "Earlier today, as I was tending my roses, I realized that they were in a vase that was given to me by your late wife." She paused, watching his reaction very attentively. His expression immediately softened. Seeing his sad smile, she decided to continue. "You see, your wife knew how much I adore roses, and granted me the indulgence to have them in the courtyard. She chose pink roses, and then I learned from one of my postulants that they mean not only grace and gentility, but also a symbol of appreciation. On the other hand, they may also mean pain, suffering and death. It helped me to realize that my love for the beautiful flowers isn't enough to keep them alive."

"Reverend Mother," he interrupted, kindly but impatiently.

"Please, Captain, allow me to finish." She waited for his nod, before proceeding. "I may tend to my roses, water them, but without being a part of the rose bush, without having the ground beneath their roots, they eventually wither away. I say this as a caution to you Captain. You are very much like the vase…" His eyes narrowed, and she could sense that, although he might have been a little annoyed by her metaphors, he was also curious to see where she was trying to lead him. "You have the ability to love, to nourish your relationship, but if you marry only for the sake of your children, I'm afraid that like my roses, your reasons for choosing your bride could fade. If you marry only for yourself, then your selfishness is like mine, the roses will live for a while, but again will wither. On the other hand, if you marry for not only for them, but for yourself, your roses will never even be plucked from the rose bush. Instead, you will grow and change just as a rose bush does, and you and your family will be much happier."

The frown turned into a half smile, as he looked at her. There was a longing in those dark blue eyes, a longing that the Reverend Mother had seen before, but could not quite place it.

"I always wondered, Mother Abbess, how could someone like you could be so wise, even living all of your life surrounded by these protective walls."

"The walls are merely rocks, Captain, nothing else. They are not made to shut out anything outside or inside. In my opinion, they are there only as a reminder to us of the quiet life we have decided to live. But tear down those walls and Nonnberg will remain, make no mistake about that."

Again, the intriguing half smile. "When I return from Vienna I will be bringing the lady whom I hope will be my future wife with me to meet the children," he stated.

"So soon?" she blurted out the question, before she could stop herself. She also had to concede that Agathe Whitehead had been right about her husband – he was stubborn, and no argument would convince him otherwise if he had someone in mind already. The fact that there was a woman in his life did not surprise her, since it had been a number of years he had become a widower. She could only hope that she was the best choice for him and his children.

"It´s been almost three years," he began, echoing her thoughts, but misunderstanding her question. Yes, it was soon, in a way – those children had to be prepared adequately for their new mother, especially distanced from their father as they were. They had to become a family again, before a new member was brought into their midst.

"No, I did not mean to imply that," she dismissed with a gesture. "Well in this case, may I offer you my congratulations, Captain! And I assure you, that your information only tells me that my decision – which I have already made, by the way – is the right one."

"Are you sure this novice…"

"A postulant, Captain – not a novice. The young woman I have in mind has not made her final vows yet. I hope that is not a problem."

"No, not at all," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I only hope that your postulant can cope with my children for at least two weeks, until I return. I would prefer to have her on staff until September, but considering my children…" He half smiled at the thought. "I ask that she stays at least until I return from Vienna."

The Reverend Mother smiled. "I have a feeling she _will_, Captain. Very well, then. I will send her to you before the end of the week."

"_Where there is a will, there is a way,"_ he thought, quoting the old proverb, as he was led outside the study by the sour faced Sister Berthe. He had placed his full trust in the Mother Abbess´s better judgment, that she would find the answer to his problem. True, there had been moments during their interview when the woman seemed distracted and actually smiled at some private joke – but that only lasted for a second, and he concluded that it had been, perhaps, something that he had said that she had found amusing. He had not minded her meddling ways, very much – indeed, he had almost expected it, under the circumstances, so he had been prepared to have his motives questioned. However he had found her cryptic tale about the roses highly disturbing, and not only because the memories it brought him.

Pushing these thoughts aside, he smiled inwardly, in anticipation of the children's reaction – especially the three eldest – when they found out that their next governess would be a _nun in training_. If they dared to play any of the tricks on her, he would make it clear that they would have to answer not only to him, but to a much higher authority. With the problem of the new governess finally solved, his thoughts wandered to more a more pleasant direction – to Vienna, and to Baroness Schraeder.

The step he was about to take was an enormous one. Naturally, he wasn´t going to propose until she met his children, and until he saw how she reacted to them, and vice-versa. As much as he admired Elsa, he had to admit that she wasn´t at all the motherly type. Her mother, and his future mother–in-law, assured him that she would adjust, but somehow he had never been able to view Elsa and his children in the same picture. Now, that had to change. Inviting her to meet his family was the next best thing to a proposal, and he was sure that both Elsa and her mother would see it as such. He could only hope that Max Detweiler would be available to accompany them as a chaperon – he certainly did not wish to have his priggish future mother-in-law and her ancient ideas about child upbringing anywhere near his children, not just yet.

Max – he had been a dear friend of his family for long time. He knew him from his Navy days – they had both served together during his first years at sea. Then one day Max had decided that the military life style did not suit him at all – he returned to Vienna to do what he did best – in Georg´s words, explore young musical talents. The children absolutely adored him, and had nicknamed him _uncle,_ although they were not even remotely related. Herr Detweiler was also a good friend of Elsa´s. He would be just perfect to help the children become more comfortable with the idea of having a new mother.

He was distracted from his thoughts when he was nearly knocked down by one of Nonnberg´s postulants. She squeezed herself between him and Sister Berthe, muttering an excuse, and just the faintest trace of lavender reached his nostrils. He could not see her face, because she went ahead, running for dear life towards the stairway, her black mantilla flying behind her. He knew she was a postulant, and not one of the novices or the nuns, because her attire was different. She did not wear a long skirt, and her quick legs were clad in sturdy boots and black stockings. To his utter and complete dismay, the girl did not simply walk down the steps, as any other civilized human being would do. She slid down the banister…

Sister Berthe stopped, with a loud gasp – he could almost swear the nun had been close to letting out a blasphemy. His fingers itched to touch the boatswain whistle in his pocket only to call the unruly postulant´s attention, because her next action was just as baffling to him.

When she finished her slide down the banister, the girl straightened herself, patting down the skirts of her habit. He saw her stiffen visibly, as if then only realizing something. She turned around, so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. As she looked up to stare at Sister Berthe, he had the quick vision of large eyes and flushed face framed by the black mantilla, with a short fringe showing on her forehead, before the girl hastily bent down and… _kissed the floor_!

"Haaah!" Sister Berthe exclaimed, apparently pleased with the postulant´s peculiar gesture.

Before his mind could even register what had just happened, the girl was already fleeing down the vast hallway, her footsteps echoing noisily behind her.

"_There she is, the infamous Black Sheep of Nonnberg,"_ he guessed, amusedly. "_That one could certainly use the guidance of whoever the Reverend Mother will choose as my governess. Maybe I should suggest that, after my children are taken care of, this one could use her help! Kissing floors, indeed…"_

Maybe…


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 08**

_**Maria**_

**ooo**

"_**She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee  
>Her dress has got a tear<br>She waltzes on her way to Mass  
>And whistles on the stair<br>And underneath her wimple  
>She has curlers in her hair<br>I've even heard her singing in the Abbey**_

_**She's always late for chapel**_  
><em><strong>But her penitence is real<strong>_  
><em><strong>She's always late for everything<strong>_  
><em><strong>Except for every meal<strong>_  
><em><strong>I hate to have to say it<strong>_  
><em><strong>But I very firmly feel<strong>_  
><em><strong>Maria's not an asset to the Abbey<strong>_

_**I'd like to say a word in her behalf**_  
><em><strong>Maria makes me laugh<strong>_

_**How do you solve a problem like Maria?"**_

_**Rodgers and Hammerstein**_** – **_**How do you solve a problem like Maria?**_**  
>ooo<strong>

"It is going to be another beautiful day," the girl exclaimed loudly, half of her body leaning dangerously outside the window of the room shared by half a dozen postulants at Nonnberg Abbey. The previous day had been just as beautiful. So much that she hadn't been able to resist the call of the mountains when dawn broke. It was quite an adventure that had cost her, of course – but even the hundreds of Hail Mary´s and Heavenly Father´s that the Mistress of Postulants asked her to pray as a penance hadn't been enough to convince her not to flee to the mountains again.

"Maria?"

She turned around to see who had called her name.

"Yes?"

"You are _not_ supposed to whistle," one of her roommates said, in a whispered, warning tone.

"Oh right. Thank you for the reminder, Christina." Then she added, frowning. "I will never understand what harm there could be in whistling." Maria mumbled.

"Girls mustn´t whistle at all," another postulant chimed in. "And they do not mumble and mutter either. It is not… _ladylike_. And don´t frown and shrug like that – it is not ladylike either."

Maria rolled her eyes and shrugged, moving away from the window. Sometimes she found those girls so silly, and it was not because she was a few years older than them. She was going to be a _nun_. She never was, never would be or never wished to be a _lady_. That was something Theresa would never quite understand, coming from a wealthy Viennese family. She would never be like the refined women she sometimes saw attending Mass at the Nonnberg chapel, accompanied by their husbands and children. Such things belonged to another world that simply was not hers.

As if to verbalize her thinking, Maria stopped whistling, but defiantly began to sing at the top of her lungs, opening her arms wide and pirouetting around the room.

"_Make a joyful noise unto the Lord,_

_All ye, all ye lands._

_Serve the Lord, the Lord with gladness,_

_Come before His presence with singing…"_ (1)

"Ssssshhh, Maria!" Christina admonished her. "You will get us all in trouble again!"

"Oh rubbish," Maria sneered. "When did I get you in trouble before, Christina?"

"Yesterday. And the day before yesterday. And, if I am not mistaken, the day before that one as well." The young brunette informed Maria.

Maria moaned something intelligible, and resumed her singing.

"Speaking of yesterday," Christina began, "Did you two see the man who came to see the Reverend Mother? The novices were whispering about him, even some of the nuns. Oh, I could not help but being curious."

"Yes, I saw him when I was coming back from the Market. Who was he?" asked Theresa. "He looked awfully familiar to me… I wonder if he is one of my father´s friends from Vienna."

Maria rolled her eyes again, but this time she could not help but feel a little sorry for her friend. Theresa was so terribly homesick most of the time that any man she spotted on the street that had a vague gentlemanly air about him appeared familiar to her.

"I don´t know. Maybe Sister Margaretta can tell us if we ask nicely…," said Christina in a lower voice.

"There is no need to whisper, Christina," Maria interrupted her singing, now interested in the subject of her friend´s conversation. "There is nothing wrong with being curious."

"No, but being _too_ curious is wrong," her friend admonished her.

Maria patted her shoulder.

"You are going to make a _fine _Mistress of Postulants one day, Christina." The girl smiled broadly – perhaps that was her secret dream after all. "I can´t understand why you are so curious this time. The visitor was just a man, like any other," she added. "Perhaps this man wanted to use the chapel to his wedding. You know the Reverend Mother rarely allows that, she has to be _convinced_. This man…"

"A _gentleman_," Theresa corrected.

"It´s the same thing," Maria mumbled, impatiently. She would never quite understand the logic of the aristocracy, that simply by being born in a certain family made you better than anyone else, but she respected Theresa´s views.

"No, it is not!"

Maria let out another very unladylike groan, on purpose this time.

"The _gentleman_ who came to see the Reverend Mother yesterday morning was _very_ distinguished, there was an air of authority on him. That is why we can´t help but make conjecture," Christina said, stressing the word _gentleman_.

"Did you see him too, Maria?"

"Why do you ask me?"

"Because you know everything, you go everywhere…"

"No, I…" Maria shook her head, but then though for a moment. Her large eyes widened, she cradled her head with both of her hands. "Oh - oh wait!"

"Maria?"

"Well… erhm… _maybe_ I saw him."

"Maybe?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"Possibly."

"Maria!"

"Fine, but never blame me for being curious again; you two are just as bad." Maria took a deep breath. "Yes. I – ehm – uh…" She rolled her eyes, irritably, but apparent the simple gesture was enough for her to regain her composure and know what to say. It was not her fault that she was accident prone after all.

"Maybe I was nearly run over by his automobile. Then I _may_ have knocked him down on my way to school," was her nonchalant reply.

"You didn't!" exclaimed Theresa, absolutely scandalized, while Christina giggled.

"I can´t be sure about the automobile, it happened too fast. But later, I saw the car parked outside. I vaguely remember a tall man –" she glared at Theresa,"- a _gentleman,_ smelling like very expensive cologne just before I trampled him and Sister Berthe... At least I think that is how very expensive cologne _should_ smell like, because it did not make me sneeze at all. You know I can´t stop sneezing when…"

"Maria!" the girls exclaimed together.

"Ooohhhh," she muttered impatiently. "I am not even sure if it was the man… _gentleman_ you are talking about. I am just telling you the little I saw of him. To me, he was hardly memorable, and he drives like a madman. A danger to the streets of Salzburg, if you ask me," she jabbered. "I can´t understand why you are so excited about him."

"That could only be him. It is not every day that the Reverend Mother receives anyone from the outside world, let alone such a distinguished _gentleman_," replied Theresa.

"So it _was_ him you saw, Maria!" said Christina.

"I saw the back of his dark, distinguished, superior, authoritarian, _gentlemanly_ head." Maria tried to remember more about the men next to Sister Berthe, but found nothing in her memory.

"Distinctive, isn´t he?"

"Dashing," added Christina, who was the only one who had taken a closer look.

"A daredevil," Maria exclaimed irritably.

Frowning, she watched the two other postulants more closely. She loved them dearly, but they were awfully silly at times. It was odd that the same girls who had just chastised her because she was whistling and singing, now had cheeks flushed with excitement because they were talking about some mysterious tall and dark _gentleman_ who had supposedly visited the convent. Outrageous as everybody else said she was, Maria did not remember ever behaving so peculiarly because of a member of the male sex, gentleman or not.

Well, maybe not so odd in Theresa´s case – the poor girl confided to the other postulants that becoming a nun had not been _her_ choice, but rather, she had been driven to it to uphold an old family tradition. Not long ago, she admitted to Maria that she hoped to convince her parents to allow her to return to Vienna before she took her final vows. Maria promptly advised her to talk to the Reverend Mother about it, for she was sure she would not allow any girl to take the final vows if the decision was not made of her own free will. However Theresa feared her family's reaction more than anything else, and was still struggling with the idea of speaking her mind.

Christina, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. Sometimes, Maria secretly envied her because she had never seen anyone so devoted, so made to become a nun and dedicate her life to God as Christina. And in order to do that, the girl lived according to all of Nonnberg´s rules, no exception, even those Maria found impossible to obey, such as the singing restrictions and the periods of absolute silence and contemplation.

"Maria, stop throwing those funny looks at us. You of all people should not be annoyed. Just because we are going to be nuns doesn´t mean that we should lose our sense of aesthetics," said Theresa.

"Our sense of _what_?" Maria´s frown deepened.

"_Aesthetics_, Maria. It means…"

"Oh, I know very well what it means," she interrupted. "I just wasn´t sure I even had it in me!"

"Of course you do," replied Christina.

"We _all_ do," added Theresa, impishly. "Remember when Sister Berthe caught you staring at the picture of Michelangelo´s David last year?"

"Yes," Maria said forlornly. "She made me rip the page off, but I still kept it. It was such a shame to spoil such a _beautiful_ book, and I was going to glue it in again. Well, she saw me doing that, and I had to crumble the piece of paper and swallow it in order not to be caught…" she gulped. "I never understood why she didn't like the picture. It´s a masterpiece, a work of art. And depicting a biblical figure, not a pagan God. Didn't Michelangelo himself say '_I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free'_?"

"Never mind what Michelangelo said. His David is… he is… well, you know… _unclothed!"_ Christina suggested, saying the last word in a hushed whisper.

Maria gave her an impatient look.

"Oh _that_. So?" She shrugged. "There are naked statues everywhere you go in this city and no one ever said we should cover our eyes when we see them."

Having said that, Maria bit her tongue. It was partly true, only, because it was something that needed _not_ to be said. It was all part of a list of things that simply were not talked about, not in a convent. In the rare occasions when such matters were discussed, it was only to remind them that they should not be discussed at all. Although the Reverend Mother was a surprisingly open-minded woman, Sister Berthe was not the only nun who did not encourage the postulants to look away discreetly when viewing certain works of art. The same applied to their own bodies. Bathing, for instance, was something that had to be done as quickly and efficiently as possible, and there was usually a little trouble if a postulant took longer than necessary.

"Looking and admiring is one thing. Openly staring is quite another," Christina remarked.

"Oooww! No man on earth was ever hurt from being stared at because he is beautiful, least of all a marble statue. What is the harm in it? Besides, how could one not stare at a Michelangelo statue? It´s absurd!" Both girls scowled at her, then started whispering among themselves about the absolute impropriety of Maria´s ideas. Never one to be ignored Maria asked, "Why, do you mean to tell me that the mysterious gentleman looks like a sculpted Greek God?" She laughed.

Both girls stopped whispering and gasped.

"I see," Maria said, trying to sound like she understood the reason for their silence, although she had no clue at all.

This so-called gentleman was much too intriguing. If he was as _dashing_ as they said he was, when she turned around to kiss the floor, she should have taken a good look at him, instead of staring at Sister Berthe´s ominous frown. Why on earth hadn´t she done that? She had been in such a hurry, much too late for her class, and, to make matters worse, she had just nearly knocked the poor gentleman down, along with _Sister Berthe_ of all people. All she could think of was kissing the floor, because she knew that the incident would lead to a long and boring lecture, the lecture to an argument which she would certainly loose. Since the nun made her kiss the floor whenever she lost an argument, she decided to save time and maybe even spare herself of the usual sermon.

Theresa´s voice interrupted her brief reverie.

"No, Maria, I don´t think he does. The man was much too real, and much too _old_ for that."

"Hmmmm. I´ll have to think about that one… Oh, this whole pointless argument is getting too confusing." With a look of pure mischief, she decided to tease her two friends a bit more. "Forget the mysterious daredev… I mean, the _gentleman_. What about that pair of statues at the Mirabell Gardens?" Maria mimicked the pose of the well known statues.

"Maria, why is it that every handsome man you can think of is a naked statue?" Christina blurted out.

"Obviously because one cannot find handsome _gentlemen_ in the flesh around every corner. Even if you could, they would be walking arm and arm with raving beauties – _ladies,_ of course - and would not turn their perfectly formed heads to do as much as glance at a lowly, ordinary looking nun-in-training. Such creatures are very hard to come by, that is why there are so many statues of them." Theresa and Christina merely stared at one another. "Now, as for why the statues are _nude_ you must ask the one who sculpted them, not me. I have no clue."

"What in heavens are you girls talking about?" The trio turned around, only to be faced with a very angry looking Sister Berthe. An ominous silence fell in the room. "I am waiting for an answer," the nun insisted. And she found the perfect target – Christina. The girl was usually very shy and soft spoken, and the first one to break down. "Christina?"

"Oh well – eh – we… we…"

"Yes?" Sister Berthe insisted.

Maria decided to come to her friend´s aid.

"_Philosophy_!" She said the word loudly, clasping her hands at the same time. The Mistress of Postulants nearly jumped. Her scowl turned immediately to her. Then her lips curved into a dangerous smile.

"Maria, do you care to enlighten me?"

"No. I really, really don´t."

"Hah!" The formidable nun threatened her with a gesture.

"Well, if you insist …" Maria bit her lower lip, then looked up, almost in a silent prayer for the Lord to help her to come up with a reasonable explanation.

"I do!"

"There is no need to be so stern, Sister Berthe. We were… we were…"

"I _am_ waiting!"

Her prayers were answered, and she remembered a philosophy class, taught by Sister Berthe herself.

"We were discussing concepts such as the beautiful, the ugly, and the sublime… philosophically, of course, as applied to art and nature, of course, and how they are a sign of… of..." Sister Berthe raised her eyebrows. "Of the Good Lord´s supreme wisdom and… and…"

"And?"

"And extreme good taste!" she finished with a nod, satisfied with her quick answer. A few penance Hail Mary's before dinner would do to assuage her guilty conscience because of the small lie.

"Mmmm," the nun sneered, narrowing her eyes. "Never mind that now. I am here because of a very urgent and very important matter. But do not think you will get away from this one, Maria. I expect to see you in my study, that is, _after_ the Reverend Mother is done with you. I suddenly developed an interested in your _philosophical ideas…_"

The three girls gasped, Maria's eyes went wide.

"After… the _Reverend Mother _is done with me?" Maria asked, confused.

"The Mother Abbess wishes to see you. _Now_."

But Maria was paralyzed. Her feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

"_Have I gone too far this time?"_, she wondered. Today she had left the Abbey when it was still dark, to go to the mountains just _one more time_. She was back in time for her duties, but had anyone seen her leave? If that was the case, she could only hope, once more, for the Mother Abbess´s kind understanding and forgiveness.

At the Trapp villa, the Captain was doing what he usually did most of the time when he closed himself in his study – he was _brooding_.

It certainly had not been Frau Schmidt´s fault, but somebody was at fault, and he would not rest until he found the prankster – or pranksters – responsible for the series of events that began shortly after governess number eleven had left in the 10:40 bus to Salzburg.

Shortly after he told her about Elsa, he sensed that his children would not remain docile forever. The way they god rid of the psychologist governess had been spectacular, and the woman was gone from the house in record time.

_Two hours_.

However, he would hardly expect that now _he_ would be the primary target of their pranks.

After Agathe died, he had locked away most of her belongings in the attic, including all wedding photographs, particularly the one the children accidentally mentioned that morning. He forbade everyone access to the room, with the exception of himself and one of the maids, who was in charge of cleaning the room every once in a while. He had one of the keys, and Frau Schmidt had the other. His was in a safe place, where not even one of the children would dare to look. He had no idea where the housekeeper kept her copy, but the woman had worked in his family for over two decades, and he had full and complete trust in her.

However, after the last governess was gone, he began to find Agathe´s things scattered all over the house. Always a small object – one of her favorite novels among his books in the library, a hairpin in a drawer in his bedside table, a handkerchief in the pocket of one of his jackets… At first, he had been only slightly annoyed, wondering how it was possible that those things had escaped his attention and were not yet placed in the attic.

Now this - the worst of all.

For the first time, he realized that he was meant to see those things, that someone wanted them to find them, and to _think_. To _remember_. It could only have been the children, of course. The book and the hairpin had been enough to reach the desired effect, and if his sons and daughters had been cunning enough, they would have stopped there. Obviously the success of their little plan had made them wish for more, and they acted impulsively and immaturely – they simply had not known how to stop when they were ahead of the game. Then handkerchief had made him suspicious. But the music box gave him the certainty he needed.

He found it on top of his desk that morning. It was a miniature carousel he had given Agathe on her first birthday after they were married. She had said it was the most beautiful and delicate thing she had ever held in her hands. He opened the box, and it began to play a song.

"_Small and white,_

_Clean and bright,_

_You look happy_

_To meet me_." (2)

It all became disturbingly quiet while the song played. It seemed that even the birds outside had stopped singing – or was it because he simply had stopped listening to them so long ago? Suddenly angry, he let out a curse from his old Navy days and slammed his fist against the table, the sound breaking the silence, after the last chords coming from the music box ended.

Why did they have to do that to him? The three eldest knew that simple music box meant to him, because whenever he was at sea, he would bring one to Agathe when he came home. Whenever he left again, she would chose one of the boxes for him to carry with him – all he had to do was to open it and the soft notes would instantly feel like she was next to him. It was one of the many little traditions they had created together.

The worst part was that he even felt powerless to confront his children. Because that would give them exactly what they wanted – his attention – his weakness to his memories. They apparently thought that he did not realize the intentions behind every little prank; on the contrary, he saw right through them. But in order to admit defeat and give them what they wanted, he would have to face them, to talk to them. And he just did not know how to do that anymore. He felt that he no longer knew them, not after those three endless years. Their only connection had been through a series of governess who ended up leaving enraged, whenever they proved unable to control their charges.

Georg von Trapp took the small music box and placed it in his bottom drawer, on top of her book and other objects which the children had somehow smuggled from the attic. The drawer was then locked, the memories shut inside once more.

All that was left was the faint hope that the new governess sent from Nonnberg would remain long enough until his situation with Elsa was defined.

Until he knew if she could love him _and_ his children...

_A/N: (1) Psalm 100. (2) Rodgers & Hammerstein, Edelweiss. _


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 09**

_**When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window**_

**ooo**

"_**How do you solve a problem like Maria?  
>How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?<br>How do you find a word that means Maria?  
>A flibbertijibbet!<br>A will-o'-the wisp!  
>A clown!<strong>_

_**Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her**_  
><em><strong>Many a thing she ought to understand<strong>_  
><em><strong>But how do you make her stay<strong>_  
><em><strong>And listen to all you say?<strong>_  
><em><strong>How do you keep a wave upon the sand?<strong>_  
><em><strong>Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?<strong>_  
><em><strong>How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?"<strong>_

_**Rodgers and Hammerstein**_** – **_**How do you solve a problem like Maria?**_**  
>ooo<strong>

"Reverend Mother?"

The Reverend Mother did not raise her eyes from the Captain´s letter, which she had been re-reading, and once more she prayed both for guidance and in hope that she was making the right decision, by choosing to send Maria to him.

"Reverend Mother?" the voice called again.

She met the ever-serene face of the Mistress of Novices, and wondered, as she usually did, if Sister Margaretta had ever been angry, as her face was just so ethereal.

"I am sorry, Sister Margaretta, please forgive my lapse in manners," she said apologetically. "It´s been fifteen years since I have accepted God´s mission of being Nonnberg´s leader. If anyone told me all those years ago that one day I would worry so much about my lambs, I certainly would not believe it." She sighed. "Oh well – is she here already?"

"Yes, she is waiting outside." The younger woman replied. The Reverend Mother knew that the weight of hers decision was clearly visible to her.

"Please, send her in," was the gentle command. "Let us solve this problem once and for all!"

While Sister Margaretta left, an image came to the Reverend Mother's mind – a girl, waiting outside, in the dark, austere hallway that led to her study. Although she was far from being an ordinary girl, in every sense of the word, she could not help but wonder: Was she prepared for the task she was about to be given? Never before did Maria have to handle so much responsibility, but then, she had been completely on her own since she was hardly more than a child, hadn´t she? Most importantly, if she were successful in her mission, would she have become prepared to take her vows and be a nun? The only certainty the Reverend Mother had was that sending her away would provide them both with the answer to all those questions. But whether those answers led to the Maria´s happiness and to the fulfillment of her mission in life – God´s will – was yet to be seen.

She heard Sister Margaretta´s voice just outside the door. "You may go in now, Maria."

Maria stepped into the semi-darkness of the study, and shut the door behind her. She looked unusually subdued and composed – very unlike the girl who had barged into the courtyard coming from an outing in the mountains the previous morning. The black wimple hid her usually disheveled dark blond hair, and only a hint of her short bangs could be seen. Her eyes seemed too big for her face, and they looked at her warily, cautiously, but without any trace of fear. Her face was slightly flushed, as if she had run from wherever she was when she had been called, climbing the stairs two steps at once to reach her study. To the Reverend Mother, Maria looked very much like an innocent child, full of exuberance and yet, cautious of her surroundings.

"Come here, my child," the Reverend Mother encouraged, since Maria stood just inside the room, unsure of what to do next. The little encouragement was all Maria needed. She hurried over to the Abbess knelt down and quickly kissed her hand. "Please, sit down" She gently commanded her lost sheep.

However, if the Reverend Mother thought for a moment that Maria would do what she was told for just once, she was mistaken. The girl immediately began to talk.

"Oh... Oh, Reverend Mother, I'm so sorry. I just couldn't help myself. The gates were open and the hills were beckoning and before I…"

"Maria, I haven't summoned you here for apologies," she said, trying to stop the flow of words.

"Oh, please, Mother, do let me ask for forgiveness," she pleaded.

"If it would make you feel better..." There was one thing the Mother knew with certainty about Maria – that her guilty conscious over any minor mishap would lead to a deluge of words from the young woman.

"Yes," Maria replied, hardly waiting for the Reverend Mother to finish. "Well, you see, the sky was so blue today and everything was so green and fragrant, I just had to be a part of it. And the Untersberg kept leading me higher and higher as though it wanted me to go right through the clouds with it."

"Child, suppose darkness had come and you were lost?" The nun was obviously concerned. The _Untersberg?_! How did that girl manage to walk all the way up there and back before noon? It was quite far from the Abbey. No, she could not have gone that far. Yet, this was the same young woman who could be in the bell tower one minute and at the dinner table the next.

"Oh, Mother, I could never be lost up there," Maria said effusively. "That's _my_ mountain. I was brought up in a mountain just like it. It was the mountains that led me to you."

"Oh? How so?"

"When I was a child, I would come down the mountain and climb a tree and look over into a convent´s garden. I'd see the sisters at work and I'd hear them sing on their way to vespers." Maria stopped for a moment, and then added, helplessly. "Which brings me to another transgression, Reverend Mother. I was singing out there today without permission. And yesterday as well."

"Maria, it is only here in the Abbey that we have rules about postulants singing," the Mother Abbess reminded her.

Encouraged because she was not being scolded, Maria continued.

"I can't seem to stop singing wherever I am. And what's worse, I can't seem to stop saying things. I... everything and anything I think and feel."

"Some people would call that honesty," the nun tried to reassure her.

"Oh, but it's terrible, Reverend Mother! You know how Sister Berthe always makes me kiss the floor after we've had a disagreement?" Seeing the Mother's acknowledgement, she continued, "Well, lately, I've taken to kissing the floor when I see her coming - just to save time."

The Reverend Mother rolled her eyes, making a mental note to talk to Sister Berthe about the unusual penances she had been inflicting upon some of her charges. At that moment, she decided it was time to talk to Maria about what she had planned for her. She decided to be as stubborn as the girl sitting before her, and ignore the little voice inside her…

"_Are you insane? You are sending a girl who cannot stop singing and talking to a brooding widower with seven children who runs his house with the same kind of military discipline he applied in his submarines._"

Yet, at the same time, another little voice assured her that there could be nothing more… _right_.

"Maria ... when you saw us over the Abbey wall and longed to be one of us, that didn't necessarily mean that you were prepared for the way we live here, did it?" she questioned.

Fearing that the Reverend Mother was asking her to leave, Maria tried to convince her to allow her to stay.

"No, Mother, but I, I pray and I try. And I am learning. I really am."

Well, she did make an effort – the Reverend Mother had to acknowledge that. Only that, in Maria´s case, whatever _extra _effort she tried to make led to disastrous results. So much so that she found herself constantly in trouble. For instance, when she had been told, in her first days at Nonnberg, that whatever task she was given had to be done quickly and efficiently – Maria had taken the rule to heart, and began using the banister to go down the stairs, instead of the steps – and this after she had been caught climbing down a window using a rope made of old linen cloths.

"_I was only trying to save time,_" she had defended herself innocently, apparently unaware that the she was not supposed to break her own neck in the process.

And her escapes to the mountains… the last time she had been caught Maria had said that she would rather praise the Lord by gazing at His wonderful creations and singing at the top of her lungs, than to spend an hour and a half praying in Latin, and assisting at daily mass without uttering a word… The Mother had acknowledged then that Silence was a virtue that she feared Maria would never possess.

"And what is the most important lesson you have learned here, my child?" the Reverend Mother asked.

"To find out what is the will of God and... to do it wholeheartedly," Maria answered dutifully. There was also an unmistakable tone of relief in her voice, as if she indeed had expected to have been summoned there for some other reason.

The answer, although sounding like coming from a book she had memorized, was given with absolute honesty. One of the first things the nuns had learned about Maria was that she was a terrible liar.

"Even when it is extremely difficult?" she prodded.

Maria shrugged. "Even so, of course!"

Satisfied the, Reverend Mother stood up decisively.

"Maria, it seems to be the will of God that you leave us," she stated.

"Leave?" Maria exclaimed, open mouthed, jumping from her seat. Gone was the flush in her cheeks – Maria´s face went white. She looked like her worst nightmare had come true.

"Only for a while, Maria."

Maria clutched her hands together, in a desperate, pleading gesture.

"Oh, no, Mother! Please don't do that! Don't send me away! This is where I belong. It's my home, my family. It's my life," the girl pleaded. There was a look of utter despair in her eyes.

_My life,_ she had said. But had this girl know what a life meant? – the Reverend Mother asked herself.

"But are you truly ready for it?" she asked Maria.

"Yes, I am." There was more exuberance than confidence in her tone - a sign to the Reverend Mother that her decision had been correct.

"Perhaps if you go out into the world for a time, knowing what we expect of you, you will have a chance to find out if you can expect it of yourself."

"I know what you expect, Mother. And I can do it. I promise I can!" The girl exclaimed, in near panic.

"Maria," the Mother Abbess kindly, but sternly, admonished her.

"Yes, Mother." She sank back in her chair. "If it is God's will," she added dutifully, but not very convincingly.

"There is a family near Salzburg that needs of a governess until September…"

"Until September!" Maria tried to interrupt, frightful of the length of time she would be away from the Abbey. Away from her home, away from the safe confines of the Abbey's walls.

"… to take care of seven children."

"Seven children!" was the prompt exclamation.

"Do you like children, Maria?"

"Oh, yes, but seven…?" she sounded almost – _horrified_.

"I will tell Captain Von Trapp to expect you tomorrow."

Maria distractedly touched the short fringe that had escaped from underneath her wimple, giving the Reverend Mother an odd, inquisitive look.

"Uh - _Captain_?"

The Reverend Mother wondered if she had ever heard the Captain´s name. Considering her age, Maria had been hardly more than a child, but in those days the von Trapp was spread in every newspaper in Austria. When he successfully sunk that French battleship, people talked about it in every corner. Even her, as a cloistered nun, had heard about him. Maria could not have lived in such isolation that she had never heard of it, not even once. Yet, so much had happened in Austria since those glorious days that now it seemed like they were a lost time. A new Austria had emerged, a Republic, not an Empire, and most people wanted to forget about the past with its lost glories and simply not remember it. That someone like Maria had never heard of Captain von Trapp should not actually surprise her.

"A retired officer of the Imperial Navy," the Reverend Mother explained. "A fine man and a brave one. I thought perhaps you might have heard from him."

Maria frowned.

"No, I don´t think I have. We were very isolated in Tyrol. When the news about the war reached us, they were already old. Please, do tell me about the Captain, Reverend Mother."

"His poor wife died several years ago leaving him alone with the children." Maria still remained silent, gazing at the Reverend Mother quizzically. "He wants someone who is reliable, and can handle them. Two boys and five girls. I believe you can, Maria."

Maria´s mind seemed to have frozen after she´d heard the first bits of information. Her new employer a _Captain._ Maria´s mind seemed to be stuck in the word.

"A _sea captain_?"

"Is there a problem, Maria?" The older woman looked up from her writing.

"No, I mean… Oh, Reverend Mother, I don´t know. I am just a girl from the mountains. I don´t know how to… I have never even seen the sea. And now you want to send me to a _Captain! _What if I am to suffer from seasickness?"

The Reverend Mother laughed.

"Maria, you will be at his home in Aigen, not out on the open sea." The woman couldn't help but smile at the young woman's insecurities.

"The Imperial Navy…," she whispered. "Oh dear. Maybe… maybe he is very mean… I mean, very _stern_," she said.

"His home isn't one of his warships, Maria. Besides, a little discipline wouldn´t hurt you at all. What is important is that _you_ will be able to help him. Now, I understand he's had a most difficult time managing to keep a governess there."

"Uh - why _difficult,_ Reverend Mother?"

"The Lord will show you in His own good time."

Maria, apparently resigned with her fate, rolled her eyes.

"God bless you child. No go, and do what you are about to do _wholeheartedly_," said the Reverend Mother, touching Maria´s head.

"Reverend Mother…" Maria hesitated.

"Yes, Maria?"

"Before I leave, may I have your permission to take my guitar along with me?"

"Your guitar?" The woman was a bit surprised at this request.

Maria sighed. "Unless I can sing, I may not be able to do better than... _half-heartedly_."

The Reverend Mother smiled and nodded. Somehow, she believed the young woman spoke the truth.

"All your clothes have already been given to the poor, but I am sure this one will fit," said Sister Margaretta, entering the postulant´s room, carrying a suspicious looking grey bundle.

"Who is this Captain?" asked Christina, while Maria was taking a good look at her new frock. She felt sorry for her friend. The fabric looked coarser than the material they used to make their habits, and very itchy.

"If he was indeed an officer of the Imperial Navy, I am sure my parents know all about him," said Theresa, a bit smugly, while they were helping Maria to change from her habit into the dress that Sister Margaretta had brought. "The name is very familiar to me. If there was time I could write them and ask."

"Maybe he swears and chews tobacco," Christina wondered.

"Sure! If no one can stand to be at his place there must be a reason," Maria mumbled. "I have no idea why the Reverend Mother thinks I will be any different, but…"

"Maria!" Sister Margaretta, who had been silent so far, warned her.

"I am sure he was the gentleman who came to the other Abbey the other day!" Theresa exclaimed.

"No, I don´t think it was him," Maria said, her voice muffled by the thick grey dress which was now stuck around her neck. "Even from the back, he did not look at all like a sea captain," she added.

Sister Margaretta intervened again.

"Now girls, stop this nonsense. He´s just a poor, grieving widower with seven children, there is nothing to be afraid of." She took a step back to have a look at Maria. "Oh, I think it is very pretty. _Elegant_, don´t you think? I hope this is not too _worldly_."

Maria looked down at herself, forlornly. The grey dress was quite a sight, and it was a little too big for her. A burlap jacket, and a wide-brimmed weather hat, which to Maria looked more like a fireman´s hat, completed her dowdy attire. Poor Sister Margaretta – she had not left Nonnberg in decades, no wonder her sense of fashion was so… altered. Christina seemed to agree with her wholeheartedly, but Theresa giggled.

"Oh God…," Maria exclaimed, only to notice Sister Margaretta's shock at her exclamation. She continued, trying to hide her blasphemy, "… please guide me to the life I am supposed to lead." Those were the only words that would come to her quickly, paraphrasing the Reverend Mother's reason for sending her out into the world.

"I don´t understand why I can´t wear my habit all the time. It would be much more practical," Maria grumbled, realizing that the dress was just as uncomfortable as it looked.

"The Reverend Mother thinks this would be more appropriate," informed Sister Margaretta. "You are going to work for a noble family, Maria. Besides, she believes our habits can be intimidating to some people, most of all children."

Maria sighed.

"Oh yes, the children. I am sure the Reverend Mother is right about this, and I will trust her better judgment. But do you think she would mind if I took my habit with me, just in case? I would love to wear it to Mass, or whenever I come back here for a visit."

"Oh, I am sure she won´t mind," said Sister Margaretta. Hastily, Maria rushed to the closet she shared with the other girls, grabbed her clean habit, made a shapeless bundle with it and stuffed it into her carpetbag.

"Are you ready now, Maria?" the nun asked.

Was she? Would she ever be ready to face anything outside those walls, most of all widowed sea captains and seven children? And without her habit, wearing that awful looking grey dress?

Sister Margaretta sensed her disquiet.

"Don´t worry, Maria. Remember what the Reverend Mother always says – _when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window_." Maria forced herself to smile. "Just… be yourself, and all will be fine."

Maria frowned slightly – was the nun trying to find humor in the situation? All she had been told since the day she arrived in Nonnberg was _not_ to be herself? Maria looked at her in confusion.

"God Bless you, Maria," said Sister Margaretta, with a beaming smile, touching her face.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Hurry, Theresa, we´ll be late for benediction," Christina said. And then, to Maria. "I think it is goodbye, for now."

"For now, yes," Maria replied, as if to reassure not only her friends, but herself as well.

"Come visit us soon, please" said Theresa.

"As soon as I am able to," promised Maria, "Good bye."

"_Grüss Gott_!" she whispered, as the door closed behind three people who were the closest thing to a family she had ever had.

_A/N: The final part of the dialogue between the Reverend Mother and Maria was extracted from a deleted scene from the original script._


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 10**

_**Oh help!**_

**ooo**

"_**What will this day be like?  
>I wonder.<br>What will my future be?  
>I wonder.<br>It could be so exciting,  
>To be out in the world,<br>To be free!  
>My heart should be wildly rejoicing.<br>Oh, what's the matter with me?  
>I've always longed for adventure,<br>To do the things I've never dared.  
>Now here I'm facing adventure<br>Then why am I so scared?  
>A captain with seven children...<br>What's so fearsome about that?..."  
><strong>_

_**R. Rodgers **_** – **_**I Have Confidence**_**  
>ooo<strong>

"Oh help," Maria murmured, gazing at the Trapp Villa in Aigen-bei-Salzburg for the first time. The house, painted in Maria-Therese yellow which was typical of most Austrian noble homes, looked beautiful, although utterly intimidating to her.

She had made her way from Nonnberg as fast as she had been able to. The nuns had instructed her to go to the _Residenzplatz_ and take the bus marked _Aigen_. The driver had been kind enough to explain to her how to reach the von Trapp mansion. Once more she heard the words _one of Austria's greatest heroes,_ this time coming from the driver. Whoever this Captain von Trapp was, it was undeniable that he made a strong impression on people!

"Where have you been living, Fräulein? The North Pole?" The man didn't understand how _any_ Austrian didn't know of Captain von Trapp.

"Nonnberg," Maria replied simply.

"You´re a nun?"

"Not yet, I´m a postulant," she explained. "A… _nun in training_."

"That could explain it, I suppose. Because there is not a well informed soul in Austria who doesn´t know about the _Ritter_ von Trapp and his feats in the Navy. Quite a man he is, and he would be an Admiral today, but the war was lost, Austria lost its seacoast and the Captain lost his submarine. As if it wasn´t enough, his young wife died."

"I know, the poor woman! What happened to her?" asked Maria, suddenly interested in the apparently complex man who would be her employer. "_If I am going to be of any help to him and those children, I must learn all I can about him. I will be able to do my job faster and return to the Abbey, where I belong_," she thought.

"Do you remember the scarlet fever epidemic three years ago?" Maria nodded. How could she not? Several of the nuns were sick, three of them died. "The Baroness was not a very strong woman as far as her health was concerned, she did not have a chance. Some of von Trapp children were ill too, but not the Captain. She died in his arms, they say."

"Oh, it´s so heartbreaking!" she said, clutching her heart. Why did all beautiful love stories have to end in tragedy? At least she could consider herself fortunate because, by dedicating her life to the cloister, she would be forever safe from that sad fate. Yet, Maria had a sensitive soul, and she could not help but mourn for the Captain and his tragedies.

"The poor man and his poor, poor children! Being without a mother so young…"

The bus stopped, and all passengers left, except for Maria. The journey continued, as they left Salzburg, taking the road that led to Aigen. Maria moved to the first seat, so that she could, at least, chat with him to spend the time. She was much too nervous to be left alone with her own thoughts.

The driver looked at her, a little insolently.

"And what could a girl like you want with the Baron?" the man had asked, looking her up and down and noticing her dowdy appearance.

"_Baron?_" Was he also a nobleman? There was much more to this sea captain than she could have imagined at first, so much that the Reverend Mother had not told her. "_Oh Lord help,"_ she thought.

"I'm his new governess," Maria replied, proudly, in spite of her inner worries. "I mean, the new governess of his children."

The man shook his head, in disbelief, and resumed his driving, muttering something about how they did not make governesses like they did before the war.

"But who am I to judge? Austria is not the same, and God knows that Captain von Trapp is not the same."

"How come do you know so much about him?" Maria could not keep herself from asking.

"My brother used to be the Baroness chauffeur. When she died, he was dismissed, with most of the staff."

"Oh, I´m sorry!"

"Don´t be. He is retired and happy, living in Hallein. Besides, none of us would be able to hold any grudges against that family, especially the Baroness. A real lady, she was. Everyone in _Salzburgerland_ loved her, you would not find a single soul in these parts that would have a bad thing to say about her. The Captain was never a very approachable fellow, but the ladies used to love him too," he winked at Maria, who rolled her eyes. She already had enough of such comments from Theresa and Christina.

She did not discourage the driver from his incessant chatting about the Trapp family, and continued to listen, fascinated. It had never been her intention to unduly speculate about her new employer´s private life. But the bus was empty now, and the driver seemed eager to chat and share his tales of the past, and the information could be useful to her. It was doubtful that the other servants in the Captain household would be so willing to satisfy her curiosity – she was aware that she was going to work in an aristocratic household and, according to the novels she had read taking place in similar settings, those people were usually obsessed about keeping their private matters private.

"Yes, he used to make quite an impression on the dames, they chased him everywhere, but their efforts were useless: he only had eyes for her, his Baroness. The things he did for her! She was from England, you know, and the Captain had this beautiful glass walled gazebo built in the garden, just like the one in her childhood home. It was a gift for her on her 30th birthday.

"How romantic!" Maria said, clasping her hands.

"Yes, isn´t it? Although I don´t think you´ll find him very romantic nowadays – although I have a feeling quite a few women still chase him."

"Mmmm," Maria grumbled, suddenly losing part of her interest in the subject. Well, she supposed it was only natural, she would not hold it against him, or even the women. Retired sea captain or not, he was still a wealthy aristocrat, and a widower now. "Tell me more about the house," she asked.

"It is a beautiful place, you´ll see. The Trapp villa was always open to anyone who loved music during the _Festspiele_. They would have concerts in that gazebo he built for the Baroness, and musical _soirées_ in the house as well. Sometimes the Captain himself would play the piano for a lucky few – I hear that he is a fine musician."

"_Oh yes, and I wager he can walk on water too,_" she thought, a little exasperated. The endless list of virtues of the famous sea captain was just beginning to irritate her.

It was hardly important, anyway. After hearing about all the music, Maria could barely contain her excitement, but she feared that if she showed too much interest, he would stop talking.

_Music!_

There was music in the house… She thought about the old guitar she carried and hugged it against her. Oh, there was so much she would be able to teach those children, so much that she would be learning from them. There would be musical instruments around, perhaps even a grand piano, or a Stradivarius. It was better, _much_ better than what she could have hoped for. Her mind raced, and for a few seconds, she barely listened to what her interlocutor was saying anymore.

"There were also balls, garden parties, tea parties. Even treasure hunts."

"_Treasure hunts_?"

He sighed. "Yes, And then…"

"Yes?"

"… she died," he said simply.

"That must have been terrible!"

"You´ll see it with your own eyes, I suppose. I hear he Captain never stays in Aigen for too long nowadays. He is always in Vienna, or travelling around the world. By sea, always by sea, of course. I suppose that is why he needs all these governesses for his children."

Other passengers boarded the bus at this point. Maria moved to a seat in the back, letting an elderly couple take her place, but she did not forget to thank the driver for being so kind to share his stories with her.

Fifteen minutes later, the bus left her at the Aigen train station. From there it would be still quite a walk – nothing much to someone used to climbing mountains whenever she could. All along, she spoke to herself, muttering encouraging words to build her confidence. The Captain would not intimidate her, neither would his children – she vowed. When that hadn't been enough, she had begun singing. She practically ran the rest of the way, stumbling and tripping because of the weight of the carpet bag that carried her few personal belongings, and her guitar, until she found the house number 53 in a deserted road, surrounded by inviting trees.

It was indeed a beautiful place – not which, in her opinion, any place around Salzburg could be called _ugly_. But the road where her new employer lived had a peace and tranquility that beckoned to her, as the nearby hills usually did. She did not recall being there during her walks, but if she had, she would have certainly been attracted by the shady road, bordered by trees. There were some horses running on a field nearby, and she wondered if they belonged to the Captain.

Cautiously, she walked closer to the iron gate of number 53. The sight of the house made her loose all of her confidence instantly. No, it could hardly be called a house – to Maria's eyes, it was a palace in gold. She wondered if it wasn't nearly as big as Nonnberg… or as the Mirabell Palace she loved so much. No, certainly not – but it was just as intimidating.

Her hands clutched the gates and she only started at the ochre colored mansion for a while.

"_It is just a house, nothing more than a house,"_ she told herself, trying to calm down and to slow her breathing, after the long walk from the station. She remembered the words of the song she loved so much:

"_Strength doesn't lie in numbers.  
>Strength doesn't lie in wealth,<br>Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers,  
>When you wake up, wake up<em>!" (1)

Her confidence partially recovered, she took a deep breath, opened the gate, and moved forward.

"_When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window,_" she whispered.

She took one final sprint across the circular gravel driveway and stopped at the front door, setting her luggage down and pressing the door bell firmly. Out of breath, she leaned on the wall by the doorbell, her hand over her heart.

She waited. The place was so silent it was almost eerie. Only the sounds of the birds could be heard. From inside the house, not the slightest bit of noise was heard. It was hard to believe that seven children lived there, and she began to worry if she was in the right place.

"_Is the Captain going to answer the door himself?"_ She wondered. "_How does one greet a Captain who is also a Baron? Should I curtsy, or should I just take his hand? Oh help, help, help!"_

Maria censored herself for not having asked the bus driver about it. He knew so much about the von Trapps, he might also have known about the proper way of addressing a sea captain who was also a war hero, and an aristocrat. She toyed a few possibilities, and wondered which one of them would come to her lips when the moment came.

_Sir… Your Lordship? Your Captainship?_

_Most Honorable Captain? Reverend Captain?_

_Baron Captain… Captain Baron?_

_Sir Captain Baron?_

"Oh dear,"she moaned, her hand scratching her head. She had no clue. "_Well, I'll see what comes out of my mouth – he will certainly tell me if I call him in the wrong manner. All I'll have to do will be to apologize for being disrespectful. He must be a reasonable man and understand that the last time I encountered such a distinguished member of the peerage was…_ _never,"_ she thought.

When she was about to ring for a second time, a dour-faced gentleman wearing white gloves opened the gate. He was the most intimidating figure Maria had ever met, and she instinctively straightened. His face seemed to have been carved in stone, since it was expressionless to the point of being hostile. He was as thing as a rake, but she remembered the man in the convent as being broader, more muscular. On the other hand, this one was just as tall. Oh, she wished she only _paid more attention to him_ that day!

It was the man´s haughty air of superiority that convinced her that he _might_ be the Captain, although not in a million years she would agree with Theresa and Christina – the man facing her could be called anything but _dashing_. Maria was not intimidated. That was something she could very well deal very well with – ugly faces. Angry faces.

"_This is much better than I could have imagined,"_ she thought, immensely relieved.

"Hello! Here I am!" she exclaimed, vibrantly.

The man remained silent, but he took in her appearance with one unappraising look, noticing her appalling clothes. He cast an openly doubtful glance.

Noticing the man's hesitation, Maria explained. "I'm from the convent. I'm the new governess, Captain."

"And I'm the old butler, Fräulein," he replied stiffly.

Missing the man's jibe entirely, Maria could not hide her disappointment – if he had turned out to be the famous sea captain, as intimidating as she thought he was, she could very well deal with him. Her uneasiness returned, as images of her idea of a tobacco chewing, blasphemous, angry sea captain, mixed with the picture of the gallant naval officer painted by her friends and by the bus driver haunted her once more, she had no clue about what to expect. But still, she tried to make the best of it.

"Well, how do you do?" she said grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly. The butler's expression did not change, and he did not say a word to acknowledge her greeting. Instead, he stared at the hand that had grasped his as if it were a poisonous snake.

"Hmm," she mumbled, wondering if it the dour-faced employee did not terrify the children and the other governesses that the Reverend Mother had said were there before her.

Since the butler had offered her no help – not that she would have expected any - Maria picked up her guitar case and carpetbag and followed him into the house.

Maria's eyes widened as she looked around at the scantly furnished but opulent front hall.

"You are expected, eh - _Fräulein_. You'll, uh - wait here please," the butler said, and, with a last dubious glance at Maria, he stalked away.

As if in a trance, Maria walked slowly down the front stairs and set her baggage down. She stared at the gilded furniture and glittering crystal chandelier on the ceiling high above. There were stairs, with banisters which looked amazingly inviting for her to slide down. The double staircase led to balconies, which lined the upper walls on either side of the vast, spotlessly white room.

It seemed that the butler was taking forever to return, and Maria was not the kind who could be still in one place for too long. She began pacing around the gleaming wood floor, and stopped right in front of double doors which, like every other door in sight, were high and imposing.

Much later, she would come to the conclusion that she could not _possibly_ be blamed for what had happened next. After all, the doors had not been closed – not completely. They were only slightly ajar. All the other doors were open, so she could see no logical reason why these had to be closed. Leaning forward, Maria peered in through the crack. Her jaw fell open with the sight that greeted her. She gently pushed the door open and stared into a semi-dark, ornate ballroom lined with gilt-edged mirrors and dusty windows. Cloth dustcovers hang from the two crystal chandeliers.

Maria stepped forward into the room, forgetting, for a moment, where she was and why she was there. She could not help but clasp her hands together in excitement. Why such a magnificent room seemed to be in such a state of neglect, while the rest of the house she had seen so far was virtually spotless, was a mystery to her. The ballroom belonged in a fairy tale, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it in its full glory, full of gentlemen in white ties and ladies in glittering jewelry and elaborate ballroom gowns waltzing.

Playfully, she dropped an exaggerated curtsy to an imaginary dance partner, then switched places and bowed deeply, assuming the place of the gentleman. She was about to attempt a mock rendition of a waltz when, all of a suddenly, the doors to the ballroom flew open with a loud crashing noise.

Maria jumped, straightening from her bow, her eyes wide, staring at the tall, elegantly handsome man standing at the open door. The light was coming from behind him, so all that she could see was his silhouette.

He wasn't yelling blasphemies or chewing tobacco, but he was, unmistakably, the man she had briefly seen in the Abbey. And he was surely angry. His stance left her no doubt this time – it was the Captain.

"_So this is how one feels just before walking the plank,"_ she thought.

Although she could not see his face clearly, somehow she knew she was being subjected to a quick, but very thorough, scrutiny, during which no detail of her shabby appearance was missed. Self consciously, she patted her dress, trying to rearrange it in the best way possible.

All she could do now was to scurry out of the ballroom, and back where she came from. The Captain did not say a word, he moved aside for her to pass through the door.

While he turned around to firmly close the doors, she took the opportunity to give him a full look. She was not a short woman, but she quickly noticed that the Captain towered over her by at least one head. He also appeared to be extremely fit, his military stance haughty and alert. Since the Imperial Navy no longer existed, he was a retired officer, but he did not look the part at all. Maria had been around only a handful of men in her life, none of them that Theresa would call a "_gentleman"_, and certain not a single naval officer, but her mental image of a retired man was one of someone with a paunch belly who liked to sit on a comfortable chair all day long wearing their slippers, smoking their pipes and reading their newspapers. The Captain looked ready to assume the command of a warship in battle at any moment, as if had never spent a day out of active duty.

As for his face…

He had a classic profile, his features, though sharp and aristocratic, were not exactly perfect, but the little imperfections were there only to make it more… _interesting_. His hair was dark brown, almost black, with just a touch of grey here and there. However, it was his eyes that caught her attention the most – they were of a deep, midnight blue.

Those eyes were watching her now. She held her ground firmly – she could not have moved, even if she wanted to. Her legs felt like lead, and she felt like she was glued to the floor.

He spoke.

"_Why are you staring at me that way?_"

_A/N: (1) Rodgers & Hammerstein, I Have Confidence._


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 11**

_**Before the storm**_

_**ooo**_

"_**After every storm the sun will smile; for every problem there is a solution, and the soul's indefeasible duty is to be of good cheer."**__**  
><strong>_

_**William R. Alger**_

_**ooo**_

_****_"Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky."_********_

___**Rabindranath Tagore**_

_**ooo**_

_A few moments earlier…_

His ship was sailing smoothly at last. There was no sign of a storm looming on the horizon - none whatsoever. Everything was running perfectly on schedule, which meant that governess number twelve was on her way to Aigen, due to arrive in precisely fifteen minutes. If Captain Georg von Trapp was aboard one of his ships, this would be the perfect time to find a quiet corner, prop his legs up and allow himself the luxury of simply enjoying the seascape.

In the privacy of his study, the only thing missing was the ocean.

"_Well, I think I can remedy that soon enough_," were the pleasant thoughts of the almost entirely relaxed sea captain, as he anticipated the long postponed trip he and Elsa had been planning for a while: to sail the Dalmatian coast, all the way down to Greece. If governess number twelve – the nun – proved to be half as successful as he hoped, the vacation would soon become a reality. He should, in fact, call Venice and ask them to prepare the sailboat.

He would not tell Elsa about it so soon, of course. Not until he was sure everything would be well with the children. Instead, he had just informed her on the phone that he would leave for Vienna the next day, as early as possible. Elsa's voice coming from the other end of the line, distorted as it was, sounded like music to his ears.

"You must stay in my house this time, darling. It pains me to think of you all alone and miserable in some big bed in a little hotel room."

"I'm terribly sorry, Elsa, I already made my usual reservations at the Sacher," he said apologetically.

"Then at least tell me you reserved the Presidential Suite this time. You know – the one with the big bed…" her voice became husky, and he smiled.

He honestly did not know how long he would still be able to keep Elsa at arm's length. Worse, he also did not know how much longer _he_ would be able to resist. Tempting as her offer was, he was a man of principles. His intentions with Elsa were the honorable possible, he meant to marry her – that entirely excluded the possibility of keeping her as his mistress. Not anymore.

"Elsa…" he warned gently. "We discussed this, darling. You know why we can´t…"

"Yes, I know! Sometimes I do wish you would stop being such a gentleman all the time. It is adorable, you know, but so _frustrating_." Her sigh on the phone was audible. "If we could only find a way."

"There is no way, darling," he said softly. "

"Oh well, you can't blame this girl for trying, can you?" She sighed again. "You know, it would help if I knew that you are as frustrated as I am, that we are in this together," she hinted.

If he were completely honest with himself, he would have to admit that he wasn´t completely sure, but he could not risk hurting her feelings by admitting it to her. He cared for Elsa too much. She was obviously talking about sexual frustration, but he still had no way of knowing if it was indeed Elsa he craved for, if it was just any woman´s body, or something else that he would never have again, something that had died with Agathe… Such thoughts were distracting; he avoided them as much as possible. What was important to consider was that Elsa was the perfect match for him. They were compatible in every way he could imagine: intellectually, physically, culturally… That he did not _love_ her as he had loved his wife could not be considered an important detail under the circumstances. He would never love another woman like he had love Agathe, not even Elsa von Schraeder. It was… _impossible_.

"Georg? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I am sorry. I lost myself for a moment." He had not realized he had been silent for too long. Closing his eyes, he massaged his temples, feeling what could be the beginning of a terrible headache.

"As long as you were losing yourself with me, I think I can forgive you."

"Of course it was you, who else?" he teased.

"Mmmm – I think that if we were only a little creative… What is the name of that lovely little place in Ireland – or is it in Scotland – where young lovers used to run away to get married in the old days?"

"Scotland - if you are talking about Gretna Green," he said, amusedly. "How charming!"

"I´m sorry, this must be appalling to you, but you know how atrocious my Geography is…" Her sigh was audible from his end of the line. "No, don´t worry, it is a terrible idea. A little too… _cliché,_ don´t you think? We are not exactly a pair of desperate young lovers; I think we can do better than that."

"Elsa," he began. It was probably a good moment his idea for a trip down the Adriatic, but she would not stop chatting.

"What if we found ourselves stranded in some isolated place? Accidentally, of course, but completely on purpose."

"_Accidentally on purpose_?" He chuckled. "How on earth do you think we would accomplish that, my wicked Baroness?"

"You are the clever strategist, darling, not me. I am sure you´ll think of something."

He was still laughing, as he heard a knock on the door. "Hold on a moment would you please, darling?" And then he called, covering the receiver with his hand. "Yes?

"What is it now?" he asked impatiently, as the butler walked in since he had specifically asked not to be interrupted.

"Eh – the… _person_ from the convent, Captain. Your… uh – _governess,_ I presume." Georg raised his eyebrows, unsure what to think of Franz's strange hesitation.

He nodded towards the door. "Thank you, Franz." Turning his attention back to the phone, he continued. "I'm sorry darling, I must hang up now."

"Don't tell me – the children again! What are they up to now?"

"Actually, they are surprisingly well behaved this morning. No, it was not the children this time." He took a deep breath. "The new governess is here."

"Well, finally!"

After a few more words, he ended the call. Rising from his desk, he tapped the breast pocket of his jacket, as if to make sure that his boatswain whistle was there – he would certainly need it to summon the children. Opening a drawer, he picked another whistle – this one was to be given to the governess, to be used according to his instructions.

He left the study, marching to meet his new employee, mentally ready to perform the same routine for the twelfth time now. The fact that this one was coming from a convent would ensure that discipline and decorum would be maintained at all times. After all, that's what nuns were known for.

The sight that greeted him when he reached the front hall was the first indication that, this time, things would not exactly go as planned. His keen eyes scanned every detail – the room was empty. There was an old, worn out carpet bag and a guitar case, also in a bad state, lying on the floor, next to the far staircase. Other than that, there was no sign of the new governess.

"What the devil…" he muttered. Hadn't Franz told the woman to wait for him? Where was she?

For a brief second, he thought that perhaps the children had really outdone themselves this time, and scared away the governess even _before_ he had a chance to meet her. Highly possible, since they knew that he was just waiting for her arrival in order to be able to leave for Vienna. He was about to call the butler to inquire about the woman, when he noticed something else – a very important detail which had escaped him before: _all _the doors that led to the main hall were open. Including the door to the ballroom.

His fists clenched.

The instructions to all employees of the house and to the children were clear and very specific. Those particular doors were to be kept closed at all times, no exceptions. The reason was simple – the ballroom had been Agathe´s room, his wife's favorite place in the house. She used to spend more time there than anywhere else. It was to the ballroom that she took the children to play when the weather was bad outside. It was in the ballroom where he had taught her the steps of the Ländler, where he had begun to teach Liesl how to waltz. Agathe had been in the ballroom with the children when she felt the first symptoms of the disease that would end up taking her life. And even on that day, it had been a room full of joy, laughter and music.

It was odd, but he had little trouble sleeping in the same room, in the same bed they had shared after she died – he supposed it was because she had not occupied it for about a month before it happened, having been taken to the hospital in a vain attempt to regain her health. The ballroom, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.

Georg knew, realistically, that he would have to deal with the place again one day, and with some other closed rooms in the house, especially now that he was seriously considering another marriage. Certainly Elsa would not be able to live in Salzburg for more than a month without throwing a couple of lavish parties. But choosing the moment for opening those doors was his decision and not anyone else's. Nun or not, he would not tolerate some noisy female in his ballroom without his permission.

Letting out a low curse from his wild early days at sea – something he dared to do only when he was alone – he walked briskly towards the ballroom, his hands still clenched into fists. He peered inside.

There was a _female_ dancing in his ballroom. No, not quite a woman yet, just a mere slip of a girl, dowdy and gangly. If he were not so angry at the invasion of his privacy, he would probably have laughed at the ridiculous way in which she performed first a curtsy, then a bow. Her clothes were equally ludicrous – her antiquated gray dress was probably already out of fashion five years ago, and it looked like it was a couple of sizes larger than it should have been. If there was anything remotely resembling a female figure underneath that curious contraption, it hid it completely – but then it occurred him that, as a future nun, that might be exactly what she wanted. The burlap jacket she wore was just as unflattering, and, contrary to the dress, it appeared to be a size too small. She wore an old leather hat of an unspeakable color, which covered most of her head – all he could see was that she had unusually short hair.

No, he would not allow himself to be amused. This frumpy would-be-nun invaded his privacy as soon as she was invited to his house. Now she was using Agathe´s beloved ballroom as her own little, ridiculous, vaudeville stage. It was almost… _sacrilegious._ The audacity of it! He had started the day in a surprisingly good mood, feeling lighter than he had felt in years, and now this… creature had completely ruined it all.

Yes, he could still be a little bit optimistic. He could understand Franz hesitation when the butler announced the governess´s arrival. There was actually a minimal chance that this was not governess number twelve. Perhaps the woman had fallen ill and the Mother Abbess sent a replacement for a day or two. Well he would find out soon enough, he planned to ring the Abbey as soon as possible.

Governess or not, her attitude was unforgivable, and if there was something that Captain von Trapp excelled at was dealing with rebellious subordinates. Before he did anything else, he should make his displeasure known.

He took hold of both doors to the ballroom and opened them with full force, determined to give the future nun the fright of her life. The sound resonated all over the silent house.

The woman – or girl – straightened immediately. The light fell squarely on her face. The sight was unexpected. She was young, yes – perhaps _too_ young, which would partly explain her unforgivable fault. But then he had to remind himself that the Reverend Mother had told him that she was not even a novice, she was still a mere postulant at the Abbey. She was not exactly a conventional beauty, although there was no logical reason why he should expect one. A slight blush tinted her cheeks, due to the circumstances in which he had surprised her. Big, clear blue eyes stared openly at him, with a mixture of curiosity, anticipation and… total amazement.

He had been trained to read people on sight. It was a matter of necessity in order to become a good commanding officer, but also a matter of survival. During the war, he had been able to get out of a number of difficult situations simply because he was able to tell if someone was being untruthful. In a mere second, the nun – no, the postulant, he corrected immediately – showed herself to him like an open book. It was lucky for her that she was destined to a chaste religious life, because hers could be her downfall. Not because of its beauty, but because it was so expressive. It was brutally honest and _wholesome. _Every little nuance of feeling, every emotion was there, for the keen observer to read.

"_This one will be a dismal liar,_" he concluded. At least that aspect suited him perfectly, for she would never be able to fool him – or the children. Now _that_ could be a problem, on the other hand.

As for the rest…

Patting down her dress to straighten any imaginary wrinkles, she ran past him, giving him another fearful glance. When she did that, the same particular perfume reached his nostrils – lavender. It was only when he followed her with his gaze, back to the front room, that he noticed the black boots and stockings, and he knew it immediately:

The Reverend Mother had sent him the black sheep of Nonnberg!

"_There must have been a mistake_."

The mischievous glint he had seen in the eyes of the Reverend Mother had not been a product of his imagination after all. The woman had indeed been up to no good.

Why would she do something like that to him? The woman was so saintly, so _holy _that he simply refused to be angry at her without knowing her reasons first, which was, of course, impossible under the circumstances. She was supposed to send to him a postulant, a future nun to look after his children. Someone for whom discipline was the breath of life so that it would be only natural for her to impose some of it to his children. Someone who was balanced and wise enough to succeed where he had failed – being a parent to his children. What he had envisioned for his children was certainly not the awkward misfit pirouetting in his ballroom, who apparently lacked the most basic social skills, after all. He needed someone who would be firm with the children, someone who would guide them in their social upbringing, not someone who kissed floors and slid down banisters.

He must talk to the Reverend Mother to clear the matter of the… _black sheep_.

_At once. _

He knew that the elder woman was clever, and if there was a reason behind this appalling miscommunication, he wanted to know about it.

_Now._

But first things first…

In the quietness of her own study, the Reverend Mother of Nonnberg Abbey stared at the telephone, waiting for it to ring.

"Reverend Mother?"

"Yes, Sister Margaretta?"

"I am awfully sorry to interrupt you, but we have a small problem in the chapel that needs your attention."

"I will be there in a moment, as soon as I finish my phone call." Sister Margaretta looked at her funnily. "There is no need to look at me like that. I haven´t lost my mind yet. This telephone _will_ ring in the next ten minutes."

"_Maria?_" was all Sister Margaretta said.

"Who else?" the Mother Abbess replied, resigned.

"Oh Reverend Mother, if you don´t mind me voicing my opinion… I know you have faith in your doubts, but sending Maria to that man - Captain von Trapp… Are you sure it was a risk worth taking?"

The Reverend Mother sighed.

"I don´t know yet, but if that telephone rings in the next five minutes, I think we will be off to a good start, Sister Margaretta. In his present state of mind, Captain von Trapp is as predictable as Maria is unpredictable. I am expecting there will be quite a shock when those two meet, not only for the Captain, but for our rebellious postulant as well. I´ll be honest, I do worry for both of them. I just sent him exactly the opposite of what he asked for and that child has little or no idea of what to expect. Knowing them both, I am quite sure that he will not be silent, and neither will her. I am predicting that he will either send her back to us immediately, or he will ring me… If he dismisses her, there will be nothing I can do, but if he calls…"

The telephone rang. Sister Margaretta´s jaw dropped.

"Captain von Trapp?" the Mother Abbess said, as soon as she picked up the receiver with a serene smile on her face. She signaled for the Mistress of Novices to leave the room. "I was expecting your call..."

_A/N: (1) Rodgers & Hammerstein, I Have Confidence._


	12. Chapter 12

**_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_**

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 12**

_**Why are you staring at me that way?**_

_**ooo**_

"_**When I'm with her I'm confused  
>Out of focus and bemused<br>And I never know exactly where I am  
>Unpredictable as weather<br>She's as flighty as a feather  
>She's a darling!<br>She's a demon!  
>She's a lamb!<strong>_

_**She'd outpester any pest**_  
><em><strong>Drive a hornet from its nest<strong>_  
><em><strong>She can throw a whirling dervish out of whirl<strong>_  
><em><strong>She is gentle! She is wild!<strong>_  
><em><strong>She's a riddle! She's a child!<strong>_  
><em><strong>She's a headache!<strong>_  
><em><strong>She's an angel!<strong>_  
><em><strong>She's a girl!"<strong>_

_**Rodgers & Hammerstein – How do you solve a problem like Maria?**_

_**ooo**_

"_**God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm."**_

_**William Cowper**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Issue the orders Sir, and I will storm Hell."**_

___**Anthony Wayne**_

_**ooo**_

"In the future, you will kindly remember there are certain rooms in this house which are not to be disturbed," he informed her irritably, in a tone that – as Agathe used to tell him – could make the Salzach River freeze in the middle of the summer.

This was _not_ how he was accustomed to greeting his children's governess. They always waited for him in the hallway, and greeted him formally and politely, as protocol demanded. Not the admonishment with which he greeted this young woman.

Her first impulse naturally was to defend herself.

"But the door was…"

However, he gave her his best scowl, to give her other choice but to concede. It had always worked with his sailors; it usually worked with his children, therefore, it should work on their governess. He had not asked the reason for her transgression; therefore, he wasn't interested in whatever explanation she was willing to give him. It must work with this… _black sheep_ of a _governess_ as well.

"Yes, Captain. Sir," she said, very seriously, her voice dropping an octave.

He nodded, satisfied with her compliance. A battle won. His previous governesses never spoke to him unless they were spoken to, never bothered him unless it was absolutely necessary, usually when the safety of his children was in jeopardy. Or, ultimately, after they had been the victims of one of the children's pranks. It was one rule he wasn't willing to break now. In fact, he wasn't willing to break any rules as far as the new governess was concerned. She was to be the second in command of the house, so to speak, and therefore she would and must conform to what he expected of her.

He shut the ballroom doors and when he turned around; he found her staring at him openly, and smiling broadly. It was both unexpected and unsettling – he did not know what to think for a moment. He had half expected her to be a quivering mass of nerves, cowering under his icy cold, angry gaze. It was not that he wasn't used to being stared at, most especially by women – as a man of the world, he was very conscious of his own appeal. The difference was this one didn't look at him as if her were a trophy, something for her to win. No, she looked at him openly, she was completely unafraid to let her expressive eyes mirror her every thought. He felt her eyes move over his chest, up to his face, his mouth, his eyes, his hair, and back down to his eyes again.

"Why do you stare at me that way?" he couldn't help but asking, keeping his tone chilly.

"Well, you don't look at all like a sea captain, sir," she replied promptly and, as far as he could tell, very honestly.

"I'm afraid you don't look very much like a governess," he snapped back sarcastically, before he could help himself.

He couldn't help but admonish himself for his earlier thought – she hadn't been judging his ability as a father – she had been judging him as a sea captain. A judgment, that he had apparently, failed. His retort had been in self-defense. She didn't look like a governess, and she most certainly didn't look like a nun.

"Stay here," he ordered.

"But I…" A small frown marred her somewhat irregular features.

"_Don´t move!_" He did not have to shout the command to the unruly cadet. As usual, his menacing tone of voice did the trick. But this one was trying, she was stubborn. She opened her mouth to speak again, to defy him. "Ah ha, ha!" he silenced her with an imperious gesture.

He left the bewildered governess – or _non governess _– gaping behind him, and walked briskly to his study. A telephone call to the Reverend Mother was a matter of urgency now.

It took probably less than ten minutes. The Mother Abbess had actually been waiting for his call.

"_Captain von Trapp? I´ve been expecting your call. So, you´ve already met my postulant_," were her very first words to him, as soon as she picked up the receiver.

It was an impossible situation. He could not his ominous, threatening tone with the Reverend Mother of Nonnberg Abbey, he could not shout with her if everything else failed. No, no matter what her intentions had been, she still deserved his utmost respect. So, he tried to reason with her, she tried to reason with him. As much as he hated to admit, her arguments were better than his.

He had to acknowledge that if he dismissed the _governess_ immediately, the first consequence would be another day postponing his trip to Vienna. Another day in Salzburg, away from Elsa… Another day in this house with the children… with the memories. No, he would have to deal with the situation as best as he could.

Although he hadn´t told a word about that to the Reverend Mother, he sensed that she knew it somehow.

"_I´ll strike a bargain with you, Captain_," she had said. "_All I am asking is that you trust my better judgment. Keep her until you return from Vienna, bringing your future wife with you. If after that time you still think that she is not what you and your children needed, then send her back to me immediately. I will not question your decision_, _I will immediately send one of our novices, Sister Ferdinanda to you_, _the paragon of orderliness, decorum and discipline that you seem to want so badly._"

"_Very well, that sounds reasonable_," he had replied.

Their brief conversation ended shortly after that, but the nun´s final request would linger in his mind for weeks to come.

"_Please promise you will keep her safe, Captain."_ Of course the Mother Abbess was thinking about the children and their pranks. Although he had assured her that none of the governess suffered any physical harm, it was only natural that she worried about one of her postulants, even if the girl in question as a thorn on her side.

"_Reverend Mother, no matter how inadequate she is as a governess, you have my word of honor that no harm will come to her in this house,_" he had promised solemnly.

He hung up, convinced that he had made the right decision – the best possible, considering the circumstances. After all, he would still be traveling to Vienna the next morning and whatever damage number twelve did to disrupt the routine in his house after he left would be fixed by number thirteen – the formidable (or so he hoped) _Sister Ferdinanda_. More than that, the Reverend Mother would not be offended in the least. Quite the contrary, if everything went well, she would be pleased to him for sending her black sheep back – no, she would be _thankful_. He had to believe that the Reverend Mother sent this naïve girl to him for a reason, but if the elderly nun had somehow deluded herself into believing that the black sheep would reform him, he would reform the black sheep. Instead of sending the hoyden back to the convent, someone who was completely unsuitable for the rigors of a religious life, he would be returning them a docile lamb. An excellent asset to the Abbey, since it was a well known fact that, in the 20th century, very few little girls dreamed about becoming nuns. Certainly none of his own daughters did. He would have performed a good deed; his conscience would be in peace.

As we walked back to the main hall where the wide-eyed girl waited, he already knew what to do. He would give her a chance to prove herself as a governess; and himself a chance to run away from his ghosts, yet again.

"_And so it begins,_" he thought smugly. Amazingly, _she had not moved._ "_It wasn´t difficult, was it, Fräulein?"_ he thought.

He almost felt sorry for her. She was just standing there, dutifully, in a submissive posture he had seen in many of the younger postulants and novices in the Abbey. But a closer look told him that her immobility was only an illusion – she was actually rocking herself on her own booted feet, alternating her weight from her heels to her toes. Although she was still in the same spot where he had left her, she had not remained still. If that was enough to say anything about her future behavior, he would soon find out.

He cleared his throat, and she turned to face him.

"Fräulein," he nodded.

Her unguarded expression told him that she was unsure of what to do. She barely began to bend her knees a little, and then she started raising her right hand, stopping herself just before she made a complete fool of herself. He had to fight the urge to smile: she did not know if she curtsied or if she saluted him. Naturally, both actions would be entirely inappropriate under the circumstances. In the end, she settled for a mere nod.

"Captain von Trapp," she said. "I am…"

"I know who you are, you know who I am, we have already established that, so we may skip the introductions," he interrupted her briskly. "Turn around, please."

"What?" she asked, her frown deepening. He paid no attention to it, not caring if he had shocked or displeased her.

"Hmm, turn," he said, with a quick gesture of his hand for her to turn around.

For a moment, it looked like if she was going to rebel against his order. But she did as he asked, turning around in an impromptu pirouette as he scrutinized her clothes, all the while keeping her eyes on him. He could feel her gaze boring into his skin.

"Hat off!"

Never before had he asked a governess to take her hat of and turn around for his inspection. As a gentleman, he had always treated them as the ladies that they obviously were, and he had been taught from the cradle that a lady never removed her hat in public. However, he saw this… _governess_ as one of his unruly sailors, rather than a young lady at the moment. And as an undisciplined sailor he would treat her, until he was sure she would be following the rules of the household in his absence.

Fortunately, she seemed to respond well to his authoritarian tone, at least at first. Appearing a bit dazed, she removed her leather hat. She had very short, dark blonde hair, fashioned in the ugliest haircut he had ever seen. It was now ruffled because the hat had been removed, but the fact did not appear to bother her – or she simply wasn't aware of it.

"_What did she use to cut that hair – an ax_?" he wondered.

He remembered Sister Berthe complaining to the Reverend Mother about the fact that she used to wear curlers in her hair, underneath her wimple. How was that even possible?

When she finished her turn, she was still looking at him in utter confusion, fear being the only emotion he seemed completely unable to detect in her expression. He could see curiosity, naivety, temerity, but not fear – which surprised him greatly.

"_This one isn't at all vain,_" he thought.

He reminded himself that she was going to be a nun, and vanity, as far as he recalled, was not a deadly sin, but still frowned upon, nonetheless. If there were a single shred of vanity, she would not have dared to appear in public wearing such clothes and in that ridiculous haircut. Elsa would probably swoon if she saw her and Agathe… No, his wife would be scandalized, but she would also try to fix her appearance by insisting on taking her on a mad shopping spree in downtown Salzburg – to which he would have to follow, carrying his check book - and supplying her with a whole new wardrobe. The children… they would have no respect for her if she appeared for them for the first time garbed in such a frumpish manner. The little ones might not notice at all, but the eldest… No, the Fräulein before him was practically _begging_ to be the victim of one of their pranks. Finally, the mere possibility of his children appearing in public anywhere in Salzburg with their governess dressed in such a fashion completely appalled him. He would have to do something about it.

"Sss - It's the dress. You'll have to put on another one before you meet the children," he said grimly.

"But… I don't have another one," was her prompt retort. He eyed her quizzically, wondering how on earth it was possible for a female to live and breathe with only one dress in her wardrobe. Certainly none of the females he knew was capable of such a feat.

"When we enter the Abbey, our worldly clothes are given to the poor," she explained stumbling with the words just a bit. "We… we are taught to abandon all that is superfluous, all temporal goods in order to be ready to pursue a higher spiritual life in His service."

"_Point taken Fräulein,_" he thought, mentally censoring himself for not remembering that nuns made a vow of poverty when they entered the Abbey. The black sheep was not a nun yet, but he assumed that it was a requirement at Nonnberg, even for a postulant. He considered for a moment that he had, in fact, half expected her to show up wearing her habit – another reason why her unspeakable garments had shocked him.

"How very virtuous of you, but… what about this one?" he asked.

She looked down at herself.

"Well, the poor didn't want this one," was the simple explanation. So simple, so logical, so honest that it was almost humorous, and he had to keep himself from smirking at her.

"_Why am I not surprised?_ _My compliments to the poor_," he thought.

"Hmm," he muttered instead. "Is this what you call a worldly dress?"

"It belonged to our last postulant." She went on, blabbering her defense of the odd convent attire.

"Well, I would have made myself a new dress, but there wasn't time, everything was so rushed. I can make my own clothes," she added proudly, her eyes gleaming at the mention of her obvious accomplishments.

"_I don't care if you have sewn ball gowns made of gossamer silk for all the ladies of Austrian aristocracy by hand, all I am interested is how good you will be disciplining my children," _he almost said, but decided to keep the thought to himself.

"Well, I'll see that you get some material... today, if possible," he said nonchalantly. "Now, Fräulein... uh ..." he snapped his fingers, demanding a quick answer. It worked, as usual.

"Maria," she supplied him immediately.

He started pacing around her and talking very rapidly not giving her time to think – one of his best, infallible intimidation tactics he had used during his days as a Naval Commander. She turned around, trying to follow him with her eyes.

"_Fräulein Maria_, I don't know how much the Mother Abbess has told you." He kept the next words to himself. "_Certainly much more than she has told me!_"

"Not much. She…" He could almost swear he was making her slightly dizzy.

He did not allow her to finish her sentence. He spoke at lightning speed, giving her no chance to interrupt him with her questions or comments.

"You are the _twelfth_ in a long line of governesses, who have come to look after my children since their mother died. I trust that you will be an improvement over the last one. She stayed only two hours," he stopped his pacing, and stared at her, as if to stress the last piece of information, and also to see her reaction to it.

She eyed him worriedly, but her question, like everything else about her so far, was completely unexpected.

"What's wrong with the children, sir?"

Once more, he had to swallow his distaste of this young girl. He was betrayed only by a slight raising of his eyebrows.

"_What is wrong with the children? – she asks? The arrogance of it! Everything is wrong in Austria, but _not_ with my children. Everything is wrong with what my life has become, but that's not the children's fault. They are children, and apparently their governesses were incapable of controlling them, of disciplining them. They play pranks to get my attention, and they have it… only… only I can't give into their desires to let it show. They need a mother – and I am trying to rectify that. How dare this… this girl imply something like that about _my_ children?"_

"There's nothing wrong with the children," he said coldly, "- only the governesses," he finished, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and the Fräulein standing before him was too naïve not to have realized the fact.

"Oh," she mumbled, nodding, her eyes widening another fraction. He thought he had detected only the slightest hint of mockery in her moaned answer. "Certainly not, Sir Captain… Captain Sir, but _twelve_! It sounds like too many too me. How long ago did you say their mother – may the Lord bless her soul – passed away?"

The question caught him off guard, and he glared at her furiously. Her eyes went wide, and her hands immediately covered her mouth.

"I´m sorry, I should not have asked that," she said.

"You should be, and no, you should not. Anything that does _not_ concern my children directly is none of your business, Fräulein, and I would appreciate it if you kept yourself from asking such questions to anyone in his _house_." Once more, he stared at her, until he got a faint nod in response. He resumed his pacing, and his lecture. "Now, about your predecessors – and this is very important, Fräulein, because you should avoid their errors."

"What errors, Captain?" she asked.

"They were completely unable to maintain discipline. Without it, this house cannot be properly run. You will please remember that, Fräulein?"

"Yes, Sir!" she exclaimed gravely.

"Every morning you will drill the children in their studies. I will not permit them to _dream away_ their summer holidays." With the corner of his eyes he noticed her opening her mouth to speak, and frantically trying to call his attention. He gave her no chance.

"Each afternoon, they will march about the grounds, breathing deeply. Bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions..."

She took advantage of a very brief pause to speak up at last. "Excuse me, sir, when do they play?"

He ignored her once more.

"You will find a complete schedule of their activities in your room. It must be strictly observed, I will not tolerate any changes. If you have any questions I am sure my housekeeper will be able to help you."

"But Captain, I…"

"You will see to it that they conduct themselves at all times with the utmost orderliness and decorum. Loud noises, yelling, and screaming are not allowed under any circumstances _anywhere_ in this house. I am placing you in command."

"Yes, sir!" she exclaimed with an overly enthusiastic, salute.

This time there was no mistake – she was indeed mocking him. The attempted military salute, in itself, had been close to ridicule. It was wrong in so many ways – the posture was wrong, the way she had positioned her hand was wrong…

"_Dare you mock me, Fräulein?_" he wanted to ask. She seemed to have understood his silent question, and raised her eyebrows at him, in a look that was disingenuously challenging. "_Enough is enough_," he thought, abruptly taking the silver boatswain's whistle from his breast pocket and blowing it shrilly.

It was his turn to see her aghast, and it was a welcome sight. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Thunderous, pounding footsteps were heard above, and he nearly smiled as she ducked for cover beside him.

While he watched his six children lining themselves up on the far balcony, he could not help but feeling that he had at least won a battle, as far as the black sheep of Nonnberg was concerned. He had won a battle – but with her stubborn streak, he feared that they would wager a war…


	13. Chapter 13

****_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_****

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 13**

_**Second in command**_

_**ooo**_

"_**So, let them bring on all their problems,  
>I'll do better than my best.<br>I have confidence  
>They'll put me to the test!<br>But I'll make them see  
>I have confidence in me.<strong>_

_**Somehow I will impress them.  
>I will be firm, but kind.<br>And all those children,  
>Heaven bless them<br>They will look up to me  
>And mind me!"<br>**_

_**R. Rodgers – I Have Confidence  
>ooo<strong>_

"_**He was the handsomest man she had ever seen. She loathed him."**_

_**Elizabeth George, A Great Deliverance.**_

_**ooo**_

"_**It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake."**_

___**Frederick Douglass**_

_**ooo**_

Responding to the Captain´s whistle, upstairs, doors opened and closed noisily, and their father couldn´t help but grimace at each loud bang that was heard. Six children, wearing identical white sailor's uniforms with blue trimmings dashed out of their rooms, and lined up according to age along the balcony railing, standing at attention. Stealing a quick glance to his new governess, the Captain saw her silently count them, her head nodding to each number she silently whispered. Her back was also glued to the wall, as if seeking its protection.

"_You´re right, Fräulein – I am missing one child_! _And yes, you _should _be worried._" he thought irritably.

The missing child would be dealt with at the proper moment – she could not be very far. As for her worries… well, he had never been the type to assert his power through fear, even while he was in the Navy – no, he never needed such a basic weapon. However, he would continue to use her innocence to his advantage as much as possible. He blew his whistle again in a rhythmic pattern. Swinging their arms, the children began to march briskly downstairs into the hall.

The governess, recovering from her quick shock, walked forward, until she was standing a few feet away from him. Her mouth was still agape, but her eyes were transfixed upon him, not his children. Not the usual reaction he got from his previous employees when the moment of introductions came, but then, recalling the bits and pieces of conversation the nuns were having about her, he concluded that most things about Fräulein Maria were likely to be… _unusual_.

Unconventional.

Not a trait he would ever consider asking for in a governess, but at the moment, he was willing to deal with it as best as he could, since he had no other choice, at least until he returned from Vienna. Not after giving The Reverend Mother his word.

No – the other governess had definitely not run for cover the first time he blew his whistle and the thunder of the children's footsteps echoed all over the vast house. Their jaws had never dropped in bewilderment as they watched them marching down the stairs, wearing their impeccably tailored uniforms. On the contrary, her predecessors usually chose that moment to compliment him on how well behaved his children were, and proceed to applaud his educational methods.

While blowing his boatswain whistle, the Captain watched his children carefully, as they descended the stairs. The first in line was sixteen year old Liesl, the oldest. She was followed by Friedrich and Louisa. There was a gap in the line, where the missing child – Brigitta – should have been. Then followed the three youngest ones - Kurt, Marta and Gretl – the last one, the five year old, was barely able to keep up with her older siblings. He could see the culmination of his wife and himself in all of them, in different degrees. Liesl was the one who looked most like him, having the same wavy brown hair and deep blue eyes. Louisa, on the other hand, was the splitting image of the late Baroness von Trapp.

Responding the whistle, they lined up and stood at attention. At this moment, Brigitta made her appearance. She wandered into the front hall coming through one of the far doors her nose buried in a book. She too had inherited his dark brown hair. Her dreamy eyes, on the other hand, were unmistakably her mother´s.

There was no need for him to say anything, because Brigitta knew what to do. He held out his hand and she gave him the book without blinking – _Tales of the Arabian Nights_, he realized, looking quickly at the title and grimacing. Her favorite book, she must have read it at least one hundred times. His daughter, who was proving to be quite a bookworm, and he could not help but wonder if she had, even at such an early age, found her own way of escaping reality. As she turned to take her place in the line, he gave her a gentle scolding tap on the rear. He noted that she seemed a bit out of breath.

"_What trick have you been up to my daughter?"_ He wondered. "_I'm sure I'll find out soon enough."_

The governess forgotten for the moment, he began pacing back and forth before them, inspecting his _troop_. Kurt´s collar was crooked, and he straightened it. Friedrich's posture was not all acceptable. He glared to his son.

"Hup!" He suddenly felt the governess's eyes upon him as he demonstrated for his son how to stand at attention.

The fourteen-year-old boy imitated him, puffing out his chest.

Reasonably satisfied with what he saw, he carelessly dropped Brigitta´s book on a nearby table.

"Now - this is your new governess, Fräulein Maria. She will be second in command from now on."

The children fired the new governess their best disapproving glances, showing the Captain not only that they all had inherited the infamous von Trapp scowl, but also that that they were not happy with their situation. He chose to ignore their glares. Satisfied, he noticed that the governess was as still as a statue.

"As I sound your signals you will step forward and give your names." Then he turned to Maria. "You, Fräulein, will listen carefully, learn their signals, so that you can call them when you want them."

The Fräulein, still looking absolutely dazed, merely nodded. He then blew a variety of different whistle signals. Each child, responding to their signal, stepped forward, announcing his or her name, and then stepped back in line.

"Liesl!"

"Friedrich!"

"Louisa!"

"Kurt!"

"Brigitta!"

"Marta!"

That order, however, was broken when it was time for the littlest one to step forward. She simply did not move from her place in the line. He had to blow her signal twice, more energetically the second time.

"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, as if awakened, and stepped forward then back, but still forgetting to say her name.

"And Gretl," he added, apologetically. He then cleared his throat, which caused the little girl to make an angry face at him. Looking at the governess, he was not sure he was irritated or embarrassed because of Gretl´s actions, or if it was because the Fräulein was clearly amused by it. There was a half smile playing on her lips now, and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

"How do you do?" the governess asked, in a polite and contained tone he hadn´t yet heard coming from her.

"_Maybe there is hope for her yet,"_ he thought. "_Perhaps the Reverend Mother had been right after all, when she insisted so much that I gave her a chance."_

His children remained silent, still looking at her angrily. For a second, he almost felt sorry for the girl, black sheep or not. The children so far had given him no indication that they would give her an easier time. He wondered how long it would be before the usual quietness of the house was broken by the new governess´s screams.

It was time, however, to give his sons and daughters a little something to think about.

"Fräulein Maria comes from Nonnberg Abbey. She is _on loan_ to us until September, when school begins. The Mother Abbess kindly allowed her to come here to take charge of you all."

He noticed Louisa and Friedrich stealing a quick glance between them, while Liesl´s eyes widened at the mention of the convent´s name.

"_At least three of them know the implications of that,_" he noted.

Addressing the line of children again, he continued.

"She is also training to be a _nun_." He stressed the last word, looking firmly at the three oldest children, to make sure that they got the message. Their reaction almost made him smile. Liesl bit her lower lip, something she usually did when she was nervous. To stress his point even further, he turned briskly to face the governess again. "Isn´t that a fact - Fräulein?"

"Yes, sir. I´ll be a nun before the year is over. Once I take my vows I´ll be a novice, and then…" she started rambling boisterously.

"Hmm. I am sure that my children will be delighted to learn about every single detail about life in a convent and all the necessary steps that a postulant has to go through in order to be _promoted_ nun, but a simple yes or no answer would suffice for the moment," he admonished her, impatiently. He heard a giggle from one of his youngest daughters.

"I´m so…" But she never finished her apology.

He glared at the far end of the line and continued his speech, cutting off the young woman.

"As a _nun_ in training, your new governess is well aware of the importance of discipline, order, and decorum. Isn´t that right, Fräulein?" His eyes narrowed at her, his tone almost challenging her to contradict him.

She shrugged. "Well, I suppose I…"

"Excellent," he stopped her again. "That is why I feel she is _at the moment _the best person to be in charge of your upbringing," he said, sounding unconvincing, even to his own ears. At the same time he wanted to send the little Fräulein the message that, as far as he was concerned, she was only there temporarily. Not because she had to return to the convent in September, but because he would fire her instantly, as soon as he was convinced that she was not suitable for the task. Preferably as soon as he returned from Vienna.

Looking at the governess again, he noticed her eyes widening when she saw him taking the other whistle from his pocket, then holding it out to her.

"Now, let's see how well you listened."

"Oh, I, I, I won't need to whistle for them, Reverend Captain. I mean – uh - I'll use their names. And such lovely names." She was looking at the children with a hint of something in her gaze – something that he couldn't identify.

_Reverend Captain?_

The unusual form of address – the first of many he would hear from her from that moment on – came spontaneously to her lips, and she had visibly realized the absurdity of it. But he had not been mistaken about something else. The impish look in her eyes just a moment earlier had only been the prelude of what was to come. She seemed bent on openly defying him – and worse, in front of the children. His conscience advised him to apply only a bit more patience towards her – after all, he had been warned that she had never worked as a governess before. So, he decided to appeal to her good sense – hoping that she had some, at least.

"Fräulein, this is a large house, the grounds are very extensive, and I will not have - anyone – shouting!"

The expression on her face did not change, as he began the phrase in a patient tone, only to raise his voice slightly, to say the last words slowly, stressing each of them. He proceeded, in the same harsh, commanding tone that would not admit any kind of rebellion.

"You will take this, please. Learn to use it. The children will help you."

Maria accepted the whistle reluctantly. Their fingers brushed slightly, and he heard her short intake of breath. He thought nothing of it – coming from a convent, she was probably not used to being touched under any circumstances, even casually or by accident. She stared at the silver whistle almost in horror.

"Now, when I want you, this is what you will hear."  
>He started to blow a particularly shrill signal on his whistle, when he was, once more, interrupted.<p>

"Oh, no, sir, I'm sorry, sir!" Her voice was raised now, and she practically shouted the words, as if to make sure that, this time, he would not ignore her remark. He glared at her, but she did not cower.

"I could never answer to a whistle. Whistles are for dogs and cats and other animals, but not for children and definitely not for me. It would be too…" she searched for the right word "…humiliating!"

"Humiliating?" he echoed, appalled. The previous governesses had described the whistle calls by many words, all of them complimentary. Effective, efficient. Brilliant… Humiliating was certainly not one of them.

"Yes. I was given a nice, good, _holy_ name by my dear sainted mother – may God bless her soul and hold her in His mercy," she looked heavenward, "It was all for a reason, Captain, and I refuse to answer to anything else except it. I am quite sure that if she was alive, the children´s mo…"

"Fräulein!" he practically yelled, and she jumped. The children were startled as well. "I am giving you fair warning one last time. Some matters in this house are _none of your concern_."

He fired another intimidating scowl at the girl for a moment. He heard one of the girls giggling nervously again – all he needed to do was to cast an ominous cautionary glance sideways and there was silence again. His fingers clenched around the boatswain whistle.

Of course she had no idea of knowing, but she had hit a nerve. Worst – he had a feeling that it was something that would happen quite often, for as long as she was employed in his household. She had been in his house for less than an hour and had already made references to his wife _twice_.

The issue of naming the children had always been a source of disagreement between him and Agathe, and eventually they had reached a compromise – he would name the boys, she, the girls. But whenever a girl had been born, he would start his campaign in favor of the name _Barbara_ – one particular battle he couldn´t possibly win, because Agathe had an extensive list of favorite girls' names and _Barbara_ wasn´t at all included.

He had his reasons for being fond of the name. Saint Barbara (1) was the patron Saint of the Navy. When he joined the military, his grandmother had given him a medal, which accompanied him on all of his missions, a medal that he still kept.

"_Guard her well, Georg – she will protect you from those evil enemy torpedoes_," his grandmother had said. But would she protect him against the black sheep of Nonnberg? – he asked himself, in amusement.

"Fräulein, were you this much _trouble_ at the Abbey?" he asked, seeing that she was obviously at a loss for words.

Her answer was immediate, and dead honest, uttered with a great deal of… _pride_.

"Oh, much more, sir!"

"Hmm." He unclenched his fingers, letting the whistle fall from his hand, coming to hang in the middle of his chest.

He began to walk away, towards the drawing room. Only to stop cold when the little postulant _blew her whistle. _Clenching his fists, he stopped and looked back at her furiously.

"Excuse me, sir, I don't know your signal."

She was either completely guileless or she was the most manipulative female he had ever come across. She smiled now – such a _wholesome_ smile, but also so full of meaning. There was mischief there, but there was also – triumph. The little Fräulein had just given him a taste of his own medicine. And quite brilliantly too, he had to admit.

However, he refused to concede her victory. "You may call me – Captain," he said, his voice chilling.

Using his old tactics, he fiercely stared at her for a moment. She did not even flinch. He turned around and left, while she stared at him, the look in her eyes never changing.

_A/N: (1) "Saint Barbara became the patron saint of artillerymen. She is also traditionally the patron of armourers, military engineers, gunsmiths, miners and anyone else who worked with cannon and explosives. She is invoked against thunder and lightning and all accidents arising from explosions of gunpowder. She is venerated by everyone who faces the danger of sudden and violent death in work. " (Source – Wikipedia). According to "the real" Maria von Trapp in one of her books, she was also the patron saint of the Navy, and having a daugther by that name was indeed an unfullfilled wish of "the real" Captain von Trapp._


	14. Chapter 14

****_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_****

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 14**

_**Poor little dears**_

_**ooo**_

"_**It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place."**_

_**Colette**_

_**ooo**_

"_**The only safe ship in a storm is leadership."**_

___**Faye Wattleton**__**  
>ooo<strong>_

Maria looked at the silver boatswain whistle in her hand, and, only for a moment, found herself lost in thought.

"_It is funny how I was so worried about the seven children, when the real challenge seems to be their father...,_" she smiled to herself.

Well, she would deal with her insufferably arrogant employer later. The bits and pieces she had heard about him had meant useless, everything about him had been entirely unexpected to her.

She had half expected his house to be filled with little objects here and there that were reminders of his life at sea: anchors, sextants, seashells, fishnets, bottled miniature ships... She´d seen little of it yet, but there was no nautical symbol in sight, not a single one, and something told her that she would not find any if she dared to look. There was _nothing_ around her saying that it was a home belonging to a naval officer, except, perhaps, for the military bearing of its owner.

And then, there was the man himself…

After those enervating few moments, it was impossible for Maria to imagine Captain von Trapp as the bus driver had described him, the gallant knight who had a gazebo built for his lady love… She even wondered if there was any truth to the old man´s tales, or they were only the product of a fantasy about how life should be in an idealized aristocratic family living in an idyllic village in the outskirts of Salzburg.

However, if there as any truth to what she had been told during that bus ride was that he was the kind of man who made quite an impression on the ladies. Maria was not a lady, but she was very much impressed. It was impossible not to recall her conversation with Theresa and Christina two days before, when she thought that the girls were so silly... Despite the fact that Maria was sure she would never make such a spectacle of herself because of a handsome man – or _gentleman, _as they had insisted -, at least now she could understand their curious reaction. Obviously, her postulant friends had the opportunity to take a closer look at her employer. Granted, he was no Michelangelo´s David, but, undeniably, he was a fine figure of a man. His eyes, however, were his most striking feature: they were of a deep, midnight blue. At first glance they appeared cold and unfeeling as he lectured her, but then, whenever she said something that shocked or appalled him, they would be unguarded for a split second, but long enough for her to see all sorts of emotions trying to hide in its depths, feelings that she could barely begin to understand. Yet, none of those were for her, except for that chilling coldness, as if he wished she did not even exist…

Maria shuddered. Perhaps later she would spend some time thinking about all that. At least she would try to understand why such a notable man had turned into such a despotic tyrant with his own children. As _extraordinary_ as the Captain had appeared to her, he was not her biggest worry at the moment, he was not the reason she was sent to his home. Now she must address the matter at hand, the reason why she was there in the first place: the children staring at her, their faces not at all friendly. The seven of them had started giggling while she watched the Captain leave the room, but once she turned around, they snapped back to attention, staring straight ahead. Only their eyes moved from side to side betrayed the fact that they were very, very much alert… It was up to her to make the first move, and they made that quite obvious.

Maria sighed.

"_Oh well, let me see what I can do about this… I should start with something they can relate to._"

She thought for a moment and issued her first command:

"At ease."

In an immediate response to her order, the children, in unison, placed their hands behind their backs and relaxed their posture only slightly.

"_So much for having a disciplinarian for a father… __What a_ _well-trained bunch_," she thought. "_Sister Berthe would really enjoy it if all of her postulants obeyed her like this…_"

She then proceeded to address the children in what she believed was a calm, friendly voice.

"Well, now that there's just us, would you please tell me all your names again and how old you are?"

The first one, a strikingly beautiful girl, blue eyed and dark haired like her father, stepped forward and back in military fashion.

"I'm Liesl. I'm sixteen years old, and I don't need a governess."

"Well, I'm glad you told me, Liesl. We'll just be good friends," Maria replied.

The sixteen year old could hardly be blamed. A young lady already and she had the same governess as her five year old sister, which also meant that she was treated the same way. And there was nothing more infuriating to a sixteen year old than to be treated like if she was less than her actual age. How could her father be so blind to something so obvious, even to her, who never had the privilege to live in a large family without so many children?

Oblivious to the fact that she had just gained an ally, Liesl looked at her like she did not want a friend either. At least she did not want her new governess as a friend.

"_Well, __I'll worry about that later_," Maria shrugged, as the second in line stepped forward. He was almost as tall as his older sister, but with blond hair.

"I'm Friedrich. I'm fourteen. I'm impossible."

"_So is your father,_" Maria wanted to say, but held her tongue just in time. Judging by the little she had seen, those children had enough problems with their martinet of a father already; she did not need to add one or two to the list.

Maria looked at Friedrich. The Captain´s eldest son, who had the duty to carry the family name to future generations. She could not help but wonder if one day this boy, who tried so hard to hide a sensitive soul behind a mask achingly similar to his father, would become an infuriatingly arrogant martinet as well.

"Impossible? Really?" The boy´s face turned red. "Who told you that, Friedrich?"

"Fräulein Josephine. Four governesses ago." He stated proudly.

"_That would be the 8__th__ governess, if I'm not mistaken,_" Maria did a quick mental calculation.

The third in the line, stepped out and in. She had very long blonde hair, and light brown eyes.

"I'm Brigitta!"

Maria smiled and thought. "_I am sorry, darling, but I _invented_ this trick when I was half your age. I am afraid you chose the wrong victim."_

She looked into the girls defiant blue-grey eyes.

"You, um, didn't tell me how old you are, _Louisa_," she said slowly, stressing the little rebel's name. The look on her face was impossible to decipher, but somehow Maria knew that Louisa may not like her very much at that moment, but at least she had earned her respect.

The girl who had arrived late because she was reading stepped out.

"_I'm _ Brigitta. She is Louisa. She's thirteen years old, and you're smart." Maria smiled at the compliment, but apparently the girl wasn't done yet. "I'm ten, and I think your dress is the ugliest one I ever saw," she finished.

"_I bet this one gets in trouble because of her running mouth too. I think I will get along with her just fine," _thought Maria, while Brigitta stepped back in line.

The chubby cheeked boy, turned to her. "Brigitta, you shouldn't say that," he admonished her.

"Why not? Don't you think it's ugly?"

"Of course. But father always says that we should keep opinions about matters that do not concern us to ourselves. Besides, Fräulein Helga's was ugliest." Having said that, he stepped forward. "I'm Kurt. I'm eleven. I'm incorrigible."

"Congratulations!" Maria complimented him, not knowing exactly what to say, except, maybe, to say that there was nothing wrong with that. She sensed his father had been probably just as incorrigible when he was an eleven year old.

"What's _incorrigible_?" Kurt asked, frowning.

"I think it means you want to be treated like a boy," Maria suggested, not knowing, at the moment, exactly how to explain the meaning of the word to him.

Kurt seemed to have liked her answer well enough, but next to him, Brigitta rolled her eyes.

"No, it doesn´t! It means you are willful, unruly, and uncontrollable, Kurt."

The boy frowned at is younger sister. "But we _all_ are willful, unruly, and uncontrollable. Eleven governess, and even father would have to agree with that," he added proudly.

"Besides, remember how mother used to call father willful, unruly, and uncontrollable as well?" Friedrich reminded them.

The elder children began a little debate about the exact meaning of _incorrigible_. Maria shrugged. It was something else she should have expected, judging by the little bits of information she had received, added to the Captain´s orders that the children should not _dream away_ their summer holidays. She would be dealing with very clever children, outspoken and well read. Striking verbal battles with them would not as easy as it was with the children at the orphanage. No, she would have to be always prepared.

Fascinated, she watched their debate about the semantics of the word _incorrigible_ for a few moments. They started it in their native German, then switched it to their mother´s tongue, English, but she could swear Brigitta had thrown one or two phrases in French now and them.

The next one in line, Marta, stepped forward and tugged at Maria's sleeve to catch her attention.

"Mm-hm?" hummed Maria, smiling down at the little girl.

"They are not supposed to do that, you know."

"To do what, darling?"

"To speak English or French when you can´t understand. Father says it is very rude. He would be boiling mad if he heard them now."

"Mmm, your father is…" It was at the tip of her tongue to say that, at least about this, her father was _right,_ but then she thought that it would be just as tasteless of her to throw one child against the other like that. She could not do such a thing, she would never do it. "… a very wise man," she finished, settling for a neutral answer. "And you are…"

"I'm Marta, and I'm going to be seven on Tuesday, and I'd like a pink parasol."

"Well, pink's my favorite color too," Maria said, trying to charm the little girl.

The littlest, Gretl, stamped her foot, demanding attention.

"Yes, you're Gretl." The little one held up her open hand, showing all fingers. "And you're five years old? My, you're practically a lady."

Gretl and Marta giggled, but with the corner of her eye, Maria saw Liesl and Friedrich exchanging a sly look between them, while Louisa rolled her eyes. Their expressions turned impassive when Maria stepped back to look at the whole line. She remembered the first day when she had been in charge of a class of forty unruly orphanage children – she was less intimidated then than she was now, and her first lesson that day had been not to let those children realize she was in awe of them. Then, she recalled Sister Margaretta´s advice earlier that day.

"_Be yourself_".

"Now, I have to tell you a secret. I've never been a governess before," she confessed. However, she immediately regretted being so open and honest, because the children looked at each other, their expressions full of pure mischief.

"You mean you don't know anything about being a governess?" asked Louisa, looking exactly like a cat about to swallow a canary.

"Nothing. I'll need lots of advice," she admitted, with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"We are _experts_ in governesses. We know everything about them!" exclaimed Kurt.

"I am glad I am in the right place to begin with, then," said Maria.

"Well, the best way to start is to be sure to tell father to mind his own business," said Louisa almost scathingly, moving out of the line. Encouraged by their sister's initiative, the other children abandoned their formation, and crowded around Maria. "You had a very good start – father loves it when we stand up for our beliefs and say what we really think wherever we are and to whoever we are talking to."

"Really?" Maria wasn't so sure.

"You must never come to dinner on time," said Friedrich. "Remember – this is a house, not a warship."

"Never eat your soup quietly," was Brigitta´s _advice, _while her older brother made slurping noises.

"You are allowed to spill. And, during dessert, always blow your nose," said Kurt.

The children were coming closer and closer to her, in a tight circle. One of them even bumped into her, making her sway. Someone tugged at her hat, and Maria raised it above her head.

"Don't believe a word they say, Fräulein Maria!" exclaimed little Gretl, looking up to her.

"Oh, why not?"

"Because I like you!"

"_Well, at least one out of seven, that is a start,"_ thought Maria, a bit more encouraged now.

An elderly woman walked in, clapping her hands. Maria wondered briefly if that was not what a governess should look like, at least if that was what Captain von Trapp had been expecting.

"All right now, children. Outside for your walk. Father's orders. Now hurry up. Hurry up." She directed the children to the front door, and they reluctantly obeyed. They kept looking back at Maria with a number of different expressions on their faces. Mischief – yes. But also expectation. It was as if they were expecting something to happen, or expecting her to say something. "Quick, quick, quick, quick, quick."

The woman then turned to Maria.

"Uh, Fräulein Maria. I'm Frau Schmidt, the housekeeper."

"How do you do?" Maria greeted her politely, shaking her and offering her a smile.

"How do you do? I'll show you to your room now. Follow me, please." Frau Schmidt picked up Maria's bag. Grabbing her guitar, Maria started to follow her up the stairs. The children were still at the front door, watching the ladies intently – that alone, should have been a sign to Maria, one that - as she would learn in the following days - was not to be ignored. She took one long, sorrowful look at the little group.

"Poor little dears," she sighed.

Then she felt it – _something_ was wiggling inside her pocket. Startled, Maria dropped her guitar and screamed. Reaching into the pocked, her hand touched something cold and slimy. She pulled it out, in revulsion, flinging it down the stairs, only to realize it was a frog. Maria leaned on the banister, sighing in relief, while the little creature crept out the front door, amongst the children's shoes. The children did not even look at it, and apparently were not bothered at all – their gazes were still fixed in the new governess.

Frau Schmidt broke the silence.

"You're very lucky. With Fräulein Helga it was a snake."

"Ugh!" Maria exclaimed, in revulsion or shock. Or both.

The somber faced children did not make a sound, while they exited through the door.


	15. Chapter 15

****_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_****

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 15**

_**After the frog**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent." **_

_**Eleanor Roosevelt**_

_**ooo**_

"_**I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship." **_

_**Louisa May Alcott**_

_**ooo**_

"_**People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within." **_

_**Elisabeth Kübler-Ross**_

_**ooo**_

Maria watched the children forlornly as they left her and Frau Schmidt, on their way to their morning walk.

They only needed attention, badly, and they were asking for it the only way they knew how. By playing those tricks, they also had their little revenge against their father and against whoever he hired to watch over them. She realized this, as she had seen it in the children she taught at the school. But there was something else about these seven mysteries. They seemed like they actually _enjoyed_ playing these pranks, seeing what their governess's reaction would be and, finally, their father´s reaction to that. She wondered what they had done to the previous governess for her to have only stayed two hours.

"_It must have been something dreadful,_" she sighed.

"I will show you to your room now. Please follow me," Frau Schmidt´s said gently.

Maria followed the elderly woman, who began chatting as soon as they started climbing up the stairs.

"It is a beautiful day outside, don´t you think?"

"Yes, marvelous!" She sighed. In a day like this, she should be hiking around the Untersberg, worried about returning to the Abbey in time. Who would have said, a week ago, that she would be climbing the staircase of a decorated, titled sea captain with seven children? Oh, she would probably have laughed at the ludicrous idea.

"I trust you had a good journey from Salzburg, Fräulein," the housekeeper said.

"Very good, thank you," Maria replied, trying to forget about the children and the sea captain for a moment and pay attention to what the kind woman was saying. She would never find her way around that enormous house if she did not at least _look_ at where she was going!

"Are you tired?"

"How kind of you to ask, but no, not really."

"Oh yes, it was not such a long journey after all. Not for you. The previous governesses came all the way from Vienna, sometimes even farther than that – at least most of them did. They were worn out and weary when they arrived, and in bad need of a rest before they even had a chance to meet the children or the captain. You, on the other hand, look as fresh as a daisy."

"Thank you," Maria smiled.

They were now at the top of the stairs.

"This way, to the right, please. I will show you _your part of the house_," Frau Schmidt said.

Maria followed her dutifully, sensing that the housekeeper had just informed her, very tactfully, that as a governess she was not expected to mingle with the von Trapp family, unless, of course she was taking care of the children. Funnily, Maria would have expected such polite subtlety not from Frau Schmidt at first, but from her employer, the Captain. He, on the other hand, had been brutally direct, at least when he had told her about the rooms which were _not to be disturbed_. Well, it hardly mattered; such things did not need to be said. She had no intention of mingling with the aristocracy; her only concern was for the children.

"Here is _your_ room," Frau Schmidt announced, when they arrived at the first door in a very long hallway. "I trust you will find everything you need. But if there is anything else you require, my room is just down the hall – third door to your left." The older lady informed her.

Maria thanked her, as they went inside the room. Her jaw dropped in awe. It was nothing more than a simply furnished room destined for _the help,_ as the housekeeper would probably call them, but it was the prettiest Maria had ever seen in her life. Her attention was instantly drawn to a beautiful brass bed, wide enough for two or three Marias and – the room´s beast feature, in her modest opinion – the open windows in two of the four walls.

"Nice, isn´t it?" said Frau Schmidt amiably, noting her reaction.

"I´m… _flabbergasted_!" The woman chuckled. "I never had such a beautiful room in my entire life!"

"Well, you should see the rooms in _the other _part of the house. Not the children´s rooms, but the main guest room, for instance, or the master bedroom. Then you have a real reason to be _flabbergasted,_ Fräulein" Maria just nodded, still in awe. "Yes, the staff is more than happy with our quarters here. The Captain is a very generous man, he always made sure that those employed in his household were adequately lodged. I think it has to do with being in the Navy for so many years, sleeping in cramped quarters – he sympathizes with us, I daresay. See? You have your own bathroom here, through this door."

_Her own bathroom!_

Maria blinked several times, not sure she had heard correctly. It was unbelievable, something unprecedented in her life. In the farm where she grew up, she used to share a bathroom with her aunt and uncle, and later, in the school she attended in Vienna and in the convent, she always shared her room with several other girls, including the bathroom. It was a small luxury that was unknown to her.

"You can unpack your belongings later, and perhaps you´ll have a little time to rest before the children return from their walk. The Captain has instructed me to show you first where the children´s rooms are, first, and the nursery, of course."

"Of course," Maria echoed, a bit sorrowfully, not willing to leave her beautiful room just yet. But then, she was there to work, not to _dream away her summer holidays_, in the Captain´s words. After the terrible beginning she had with him, she should start by following his orders strictly. Or, at least, she would try to.

Frau Schmidt took her to the opposite end of the house, to a long, elegantly decorated hallway, where all the main rooms of the house were located. Again, Maria noticed the complete absence of nautical symbols.

"The master bedroom is at the end of the hall," she informed Maria, with a look that clearly said "_Don´t even go near it!_"

"_Oh, I wouldn´t dream of it,_" Maria replied in thought. Why would the woman think she would have any wish to throw herself willingly into a dragon´s lair?

One by one, she was shown the children´s rooms. Liesl, the eldest, was the only one who occupied a bedroom alone. Louisa and Brigitta, Marta and Gretl; and the boys, Friedrich and Kurt, shared theirs. The rooms were impeccable – well, that was hardly a surprise, considering how the manner in which the children had appeared before her, marching and wearing uniforms.

"_When and where do those children play?"_ she wondered.

"Here is the old nursery." The housekeeper showed her into a spacious room. Maria sighed in relief – at last a sign that children inhabited the house. She would soon learn that it was actually the only place in the house where they were allowed a small degree of freedom. Finally she saw books and toys, neatly arranged in their proper places. Yet, such things that were absent in each of their bedrooms.

"This is where they children study and… oh well, _play_ nowadays," the woman informed. "I suppose it is where you´ll spend a good part of your day as well."

The room was lovely, but Maria wasn´t sure about spending the whole time there, unless the weather was bad. Judging by the little she had seen of the house, the outside of it was even lovelier. And where was that gazebo the driver had mentioned? She burned to ask the housekeeper about it, but then she thought she would have plenty of time to find it on her own. It would be much more fun that way, her very first adventure in the von Trapp home.

After the _grand tour,_ Frau Schmidt walked Maria back to her bedroom. Before she left, she had a few final words to the young governess.

"Fräulein…if I may give you some advice…"

"But of course, Frau Schmidt. As you can see, I need plenty of it."

"Very well. Do you know how many governesses we had in the past years?"

"I'm the twelfth – the Captain told me as much," Maria replied.

"Haven´t you ever wondered why so many?"

"It was the very first thing I asked the Reverend Mother, but she said that the Lord would show me when it was time."

The housekeeper smiled.

"He will, Fräulein, I am sure He will. Trust me, you don´t need to fear, there is nothing sinister going on, but…" The housekeeper rolled her eyes while Maria listened attentively. "There is a bit of a rebel in you, I can see that already. There is nothing wrong with that, but in the meantime, if you want to keep your job until September, it will go easier for you, if you go strictly by the Captain's instructions. Order and discipline – that is what is most important to him. I dare say it is the only way he knows how to live now. He does not tolerate any transgressions in that respect, and I'm afraid that there is little or nothing you, of all people, can do about it. Others have tried and failed miserably. Why should you be any different?"

"Well, I could…" Maria frowned.

"Hah – ha! Don´t even consider it. If you must know, in a few weeks – if you survive that long – it will be you who will be marching and breathing deeply, using that whistle to call your children. That is how the Captain is. One has to adapt to his ways, because changing him is impossible – unless you are some kind of miracle worker. Even the late Baroness had a hard time with him, sometimes."

"But…"

"Please, Fräulein, do try to understand. He had to follow rules all his life – that is how it is, not only in the military, but also in his family. In the war he was a famous officer, doing heroic deeds, all under water – which I can't imagine at all. Then came the defeat… But it was nothing compared to what happened to him when the Baroness died. Surely, the Captain loves his children very much – they are her children too, aren't they? However… he lost his connection with them when he lost her. He does not know how to reach them, nor they him. Very, very sad, indeed. The Baroness was such a remarkable woman, so full of life…"

With a sad sigh, Frau Schmidt finally left Maria alone to unpack her meager belongings, with a lot to think about that extraordinary family and the extraordinary man who commanded it.

Although she had one hour or two before duty called her again, resting or reading the Captain´s instructions – fifteen pages of it - became impossible.

She opened her carpet bag. The frog in her pocked had only been the beginning - the children had somehow managed to put handfuls of dirt into the top. Maria could only hope that no insects had been in the dirt as she continued unpacking.

When she was done that, she became aware of her feet, aching after so much walking and running on the countryside – not to mention the impromptu dance in the ballroom. With a sigh of genuine pleasure, she removed her shoes, and went into the bathroom to freshen up.

"_Fresh as a daisy indeed,_" she grumbled, watching her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her face looked flushed and sweaty, her hair was a complete, rumpled mess. No wonder that, with her, the Captain had not acted at all like the gentleman they all claimed him to be. "_If you wish to be treated like a lady, act like one,_" that was what Theresa always said.

Maria had not lingered in there for more than five minutes, time enough to wash her face in cool water, comb her hair and take care of an urgent call of nature. The bath tub looked extremely inviting, but she would have to leave that for later, after she had tucked the children in bed. She giggled when she thought about the look in the Captain´s face if he realized that the governess was late because she was soaking in the bath tub!

As soon as she left the bathroom, she noticed something strange. Her leather hat, which she had left on top of the bed, was no longer there. Her shoes were also missing. She did not care very much for the hat, but the shoes – the only pair she possessed - were not to be found anywhere in the room. She looked everywhere – under the bed, inside the closet… Finally, she went into the hallway, not knowing where she would look next. To seek Frau Schmidt's help had been the only idea that occurred to her.

"I had a feeling you would be in need of my help, Fräulein," the woman said enigmatically just after Maria knocked at the door to her bedroom. That is why I did not go very far yet."

"The children?" Maria asked.

"Obviously. What did they do?" she asked. Maria's answer had been to look down at her shoeless feet. "Oh dear! I'm afraid this does not look good for you. The last time they used this trick, Fräulein Irmgard found hers in the… No, I don't think you'll need to know that. Not yet."

"Ooooh," she moaned helplessly.

"However, you should also know that they rarely use the prank twice – except, maybe for the welcome frog in the pocket. That one is a classic."

"Why am I not relieved to hear that? But what am I to do? I can´t walk around the house like this. The Captain would be…"

"Furious, of course, not to mention absolutely scandalized by your lack of propriety." Maria groaned. "Don't you have another pair to wear?" the housekeeper asked.

"Sadly not," was her forlorn reply.

"Well – let me walk you back to your room. Then I'll see if I can find you some shoes to lend you, at least until you recover your own. Mine won´t do, I´m afraid – you have bigger feet."

"If you only tell me where I am most likely to find them, I will go after them myself. You really don't need to go to such trouble, Frau Schmidt."

"Yes, I do! If for no other reason, that to keep a nice girl like you from falling prey to any more practical jokes before dinner. If I am not mistaken, they have already taken advantage of the fact that you have left your room again."

"But how? They could not possibly… We are out here in the hallway and we would have seen then if they passed us…"

"Fräulein Maria, they are the sons and daughters of one of the most astute and ingenious Naval Commanders Europe has ever known. Who are we to believe that they do not carry some of that in their genes…? Trust me, they do!" Looking at Maria's worried face; she had tried to put her at ease. "Don´t worry, your shoes will be found. I'll ask one of the little ones – luckily, Marta and Gretl are still too young to be able to keep a secret. Or maybe I'll ask the cook to bribe Kurt with a few extra _apfelstrudel_."

"Should we tell the Captain?"

"Oh no, dear," Frau Schmidt replied, worriedly. "You would be sacked on the spot."

Maria frowned. "But why? I was the victim, not the perpetrator?'

"The Captain´s logic about this is a little – ehm - _twisted_, I´m afraid. Don´t ask me why, it is just the way he is, it is how these things work around here. Perhaps it is good that you learn soon. He thinks that the pranks are the governess´s fault, so he fires them because they are completely unable to…"

"… _maintain discipline,_" Maria finished. "Yes, I heard that one already."

Inside, she was fuming. What an infuriatingly stubborn man? Did it ever occur to the high and mighty _Ritter_ von Trapp that the practical jokes were entirely_ his_ fault? Not the children´s fault, not the governesses fault - his! Maria already wondered if she would not have to yell that to him, at the top of her lungs, as if _she_ were the Captain and he a lowly cadet. Well, if they pushed her far enough to lose control of her temper, she certainly would.

"Mmm – I´m sure you did. Oh well – let us go hunting for a pair of shoes now!"

Frau Schmidt's offer had proven to be valuable indeed. Because the door to Maria's room had been locked when she returned, so that the housekeeper had to use her key to open it – which she did with an "_I told you so_" glance.

"Wait," she had said, when Maria made a motion to get in. "The bucket of mud just inside the door – another classic, I'm afraid."

The bucket having been removed by Frau Schmidt, Maria went inside, feeling no less safe now.

"You are being brave, Fräulein. They had never been this persistent with any of the previous eleven governesses. They usually gave them a few hours to recover between one practical joke and the next. By this time, any of them would be running to the Captain," she had said before leaving.

Maria had felt tempted to do just that when she found her bath tub flooding with water... Her reaction was immediate and this time she did not try to disguise it – she let out a series of loud moans and screams of frustration, something she did not recall doing since she was an uncontrollable youth herself.

She had just closed the faucets and was about to start cleaning the mess when Frau Schmidt returned, informing her that she had seen her shoes on top of the oak tree by the stables…

"_What am I to do?"_

Eleven governesses – no wonder!

_S__he_ was number twelve. If she wanted to survive another day with them, she would have to do _something._

Eleven governesses, and it seemed that _none_ of them had been successful with the children. They had probably reprimanded them each time a transgression had been made, or better yet, sent them to bed without supper. Or they had gone straight to their father, and in that case they were promptly dismissed. She _vowed_ she would not make the same mistakes. Instead, she would teach them all a lesson, to the children and to their father.

She would not be vanquished. She would not crumble. She would show them all. She would die before admitting defeat. They would look up to her and respect her.

But _how_?

"_Well, it's time that I try something different._" _What_, she wasn't quite sure. "_I'm here by God's will. He will show me the way._"

And she began to pray.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 16**

_**Women, horses, power and war**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Four things greater than all things are, -**_

_**Women and Horses and Power and War."**_

_**Rudyard Kipling, "The Ballad of the King's Jest"**_

_**ooo**_

"_**The sea hates a coward."**_

_**Eugene O'Neill**_

_**ooo**_

Baron Georg Ritter von Trapp was enraged – with everything and everyone. His wrath bordered the irrational in moments like these, when it reached such extremes that he would start blaming Austria for losing the war and even his wife for dying, thus ripping his family and his heart apart. He was mad at his own children, for demanding from him what he could not possibly give them, not anymore. Thinking of the children made him think, inevitably, of the tomboy that had the audacity to call herself a _governess_. Right now, she hated _her_ as well. And that made him angrier because he was allowing such a menial subject to occupy his thoughts when he should be thinking about Vienna and his plans for a new life with Elsa.

There was one thing that he could do that would assuage his anger before it started eating him from the inside. He knew he had to get away from it all_._ He needed the one activity still in his life that had a minimum amount of painful memories attached to it. After leaving the Fräulein alone with the children, the Captain knew exactly what to do. He ordered the stable boy to saddle his Lipizzan stallion, Pluto Austria – he was going for a long ride in the countryside, preferably at neck breaking speed, until he felt ready to rejoin civilization again without doing or saying anything he might regret later.

The act of riding, in itself, was not especially connected to Agathe, although everything else about it irrevocably was. It was one of the few things that he was used to doing alone in the latter years of his marriage, after he had lost his post in the Navy. Or rather, after Austria lost the need for a navy.

"_Damn them all,"_ he thought.

He rode alone, not Agathe, not the children, only his horse and his thoughts. Most importantly, he had his own personal space, just as he had while he was at sea. Being a father of seven could be tiring and overwhelming; even if he loved his children and their mother above anything else.

"_Don't they know I love them?_ _Can't they see it?"_ He wanted to ask this to his children, but asking would mean talking, and listening, and remembering. Things that he couldn't do just yet.

No, he still needed his solitude. That was something his wife had always respected – his need to spend some time by himself, for his usual brooding. However, Agathe hated riding – she much preferred indoor activities, and certainly nothing that required her to remain outside for long periods of time, facing heat or cold made her happy. She loved the mountains, loved Austria and Salzburg, but they were just as lovely from inside their parlor as they were outside on the terrace. He, on the other hand, had grown up around horses, and they were an essential part of his life, next to the sea and music.

When they moved to Aigen, he had announced his intention to breed horses on their property. He needed something to do, something productive, because he was not a believer in the old idea that noblemen should not work at all. Idleness was a foreign concept to him, he abhorred it and had and developed a profound dislike for anyone who defended it.

"_Detestable, useless bores,_" he thought, remembering some of his friends who were utterly unable to do menial things such as tying their own shoes.

Naturally, he would not accept going to the extreme of performing in public playing the piano - that was absolutely out of the question, even for a self-appointed modern aristocrat like himself. He was willing to play for his family and a selected circle of friends during the _Festspiele_, but the idea of doing it for money had always revolted him, it was much to _déclassé_ for him to stomach. Horse breeding, on the other hand was something that he knew he could do well, and he knew the right people whom he had to hire to help him. It had a certain allure to it that allowed him a little bit of freedom and a new challenge.

Agathe had been upset and not entirely without reason, although her main motives he could not agree with.

"_We have our money, from my inheritance and yours. You don't have to do that. You don't need to work. You shouldn't feel useless; after all, what you did in the Adriatic could have saved Austria. But you are one man – one man cannot make or break a country. If all of the men fighting the war had put even a fraction of the effort that you did, we would not have lost the war and you would be an Admiral now. But they didn't, and the Austria that we know and love isn't the same. It's different, and yet, it's still Austria. It's time that you also become a different you. Think about it, you can dedicate yourself to your music again… or your submarines, perhaps. But Georg, breeding _horses_!"_

She had been correct, he had never bred horses before the war, had never even mentioned it. And yet, it had always been a part of him, one that he never spoke of – one that he kept locked away. After losing the Navy, he still needed the opportunity to take risks, to be different, to defy protocol. He needed a way to shun the invisible barriers of aristocratic society without actually denouncing himself or his family.

There was something else that bothered Agathe. Nothing was ever black and white for Georg – if he chose to do something, he had to excel in it. It was like that with the Navy, and, maybe to a lesser extent, with respect to his music. Thus, she feared that her husband would become as obsessed with his horses as he once had been with his submarines, and he would consequently suffer from it. The loss of the Austrian Navy had been a terrible blow, and she knew it also had been painful when, in his youth, he had to choose between the sea and music.

Eventually, they had reached a compromise. He would have his horses in their property, he would enjoy the challenge they represented, but he would not make a business out of it. Her peace offering had been Pluto – who was as moody and mysterious as both his master and his namesake (1).

Their mutual agreement also meant that he would at least try to go back to another one of his lost loves – the sea. It was highly unlikely that he would command another ship again, but few men knew more about U-boats than he did. He knew them from inside out, how they worked, what could be done to make them better, more efficient.

At first it was like removing a tooth without the proper anesthetics. The first time he was invited to a submarine, without being able to shout the exhilarating order "dive!" was so depressing to him that he was silent for days after he returned home. But he persisted, and he was back again, three months later, to check the efficiency of a new propelling system he had designed.

How could he give up, at any rate, when Agathe was there to encourage him? It was her who would keep the children away from his study when he was too busy concentrating on solving a problem, it was her who would bring him coffee in the middle of the night when he had to meet a deadline in the following day. Sometimes she would stay with him for a while, rubbing his stiff neck and shoulders, or she would simply sit in his favorite chair by the fireplace with a book in his hands and keep him company, until he was exhausted enough to retire. Or his favorite – she would simply hug him from behind, whispering in his year that life was simply too short for him to spend drawing underwater boats, and coaxed him to go upstairs to their bedroom, where they would engage in more pleasant activities.

Regardless, with his wife´s help and support, with the help of her family connections and his own prestige, soon he was getting commissions from naval forces around the world, from other countries that still had their sacred coastline and needed a navy to defend it. Sometimes, all they wanted was to improve on a minor technical detail, sometimes they wanted a new design altogether.

Of course all that came to a halt when she died. It was one of the things he couldn´t bear doing anymore. However, he was not forgotten – lately, his expertise had been requested, with some insistence, by a high officer of the French Navy. Highly ironic and oddly flattering, since sinking one of their battleships was what had made him famous in the first place. But gone were the days when France and Austria were enemies, so he saw no problem in helping them. Had this happened before Elsa, he would certainly refuse, as he had refused so many other offers. Now, for the first time, he was considering it with some seriousness. As a matter of fact, he might even accept it.

Those were his thoughts as he found himself in his study after leaving number twelve alone with the children. Yes, riding would be indeed the balm he needed. The mere thought of it was enough to improve his mood greatly. Impatiently, he waited, in full riding gear, for Franz to call him, announce that Pluto was ready.

His eyes fell upon three letters on his desk. One was from the aforementioned high commander of the French naval forces. Another one was from another naval officer, this one a British admiral and a dear friend of his father in law – considering his latest arguments with Agathe´s father, he could well imagine what the man wanted. It would be a letter that he would not be willing to open so soon.

The third one had already been open, and the mere sight of it was enough to make his temper flare again. It was actually a telegram, where the Reverend Mother informed him of his governess´s pending arrival.

"_The governess_!" He spat, pacing around his study, tearing his gaze away from the offending piece of paper.

The little rag doll did not look like a governess, did not talk like a governess, and, most of all, did not act like one. Every passable governess knew, at least, how to act with her employer. _Never_ before had an employee – or any of his subordinates in the Navy – behaved in such a brash manner towards him. The Black Sheep of Nonnberg was proving to be everything the nuns said she was and much more: outspoken, impulsive and much too brazen for her own good.

He considered the one person he was directing most of his anger to – no, not the so-called _governess_, but himself. He was angry because somewhere in his musings of the little black sheep he detected that small part of him that he thought dead after years of grieving was actually _amused_ by her cheeky behavior. That part of him that signaled that, if had surprised the little Fräulein during her ridiculous mock dance in the ballroom; he would have laughed, and probably even applauded her, joining the play. If she were one of his girls, or Agathe, he might even have asked her to join him in a waltz. He would also have grinned mischievously when she dared to blow the whistle at him. If she were any other woman – Elsa, for instance - he would have even taken that as a flirtatious gesture.

But she was not Baroness Schrader. She wasn't Liesl, Louisa, Brigitta, Marta or Gretl. Finally – and the thought was nearly sacrilegious to him – she was not his wife, Agathe von Trapp, _née_ Whitehead. She most definitely had not been inviting him to a dance, let alone flirting with him. She was going to be a nun, for heaven's sake!

Who was she? Fräulein what? Maria _something_. If she had a last name, she had not even had the grace of informing it to him, as it would have been expected of her. Another "_faux-pas_" to add to the growing list of her inadequacies, so far.

He searched the top of his desk, looking for an answer. It would not be proper to continue calling her Fräulein Maria, nor any of the other names that came to mind when he thought of the young girl. He found what he was looking for - the telegram on top of his desk.

Fräulein Maria _Heller_… (2)

The name was enough to make him squirm, because it recalled him of his childhood nemesis – Stephen Heller. The man who almost made him give up music. The only reason why he had persisted was to prove Herr Heller, his father, and his piano teacher that he could play the piano properly. Whenever he misbehaved, his usual punishment was two hours of playing Heller´s _Études_. When his behavior was really, really bad, he had to go through Carl Czerny's _Etudes progressives et brillantes,_ which he still called the most boring combination of notes ever imagined by a human being. Heller was difficult enough, boring monotony being drilled into his fingers as punishment, and he did not discover his love for music until he had passed the stage in which he had to suffer through those endless piano exercises. And even though he later learned that Heller actually wrote some very good piano music, including a few transcriptions of some of his favorite Schubert's Lieder, the composer was never completely redeemed in his eyes.

Now, a Fräulein _Heller_ was the – uh - _governess_ of his children. It was doubtful that she was related to the infamous (at least in his opinion) composer, but he would be very much honored and relieved if she were a Fräulein Schubert, or Haydn. The _Heller_ name still made his skin crawl.

_"What's in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet," _(3) he quoted the Bard in his mind. Considering his childhood experiences, he sincerely doubted it.

Yet, in spite of it all, he was reluctant to do what he knew should have been done – fire her on the spot. If he had not paused right after he met her, leaving her waiting for him, her mouth agape, while he rang the Reverend Mother, she would be on the bus back to Salzburg at this hour. It had been the sainted nun who had convinced him to give that bedraggled misfit a chance until he returned from Vienna. She had been so _good_ that he had actually promised her he would. He had no idea that a nun could be so manipulative!

He kept trying to convince himself that it was indeed the best thing to do, regardless of what the Mother Abbess had said, because he needed to go to Vienna the next morning, and there was no possibility of finding another governess before that. Postponing his journey was also unthinkable. However, the real reason why he had not sent her packing as soon as he saw her in the ballroom was beyond his comprehension, or later, when she had questioned his methods in front of his children. Or when she had given him the final blow, giving him a dose of his own medicine…

"_She really had done that, hadn't she? Clever!_"He thought, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his lips, which he immediately repressed.

Yes, he was… amused. Not to mention curious.

He wanted to see how that project of a nun would handle his seven pranksters, what kind of infallible tactics she had in store, if any. Most of all, he wanted to see how the seven pranksters would handle her, and what would she do when she fell victim of the first trick. Her behavior so far had been so chaotic, so unpredictable to him, that he simply had no idea of what to expect.

He gazed at the clock over the mantel. The children had been alone with her for twenty minutes.

"_They must be slacking_," he thought. It usually took the governess about ten minutes to find the welcome gift in the pocket of her coat or dress. The present was usually slimy creature Louisa found by the river, or in the woods. He could have sworn there was not a single living snake in all of the Salzburg area that his daughter hadn't managed to find – how she did it was still a mystery.

Before he could think further, he heard a series of screams coming from downstairs.

"Ah! Ah! Aah! Oh! Ohh…"

He shook his head, smiling cynically. The children were once more, back in action. It was time to see how the black sheep would react.

_A/N: (1) __**Pluto**__ was the Roman god of the underworld, the counterpart of the Greek Hades. It is also the name of one of the main Lipizzan male lines, according to our expert in the subject, maxisback. As it happens with every Lipizzan stallion, he takes the name of the line (Pluto), followed by the name of a female line. I thought the female line Austria was very suitable to a patriot like Captain von Trapp. (2) I realize that in the play Maria´s last name is Rainer, and in real life, her last name was Kutschera. However, it is my humble opinion that none of these names suit the character as I see her. Considering that the differences between the real Maria and her movie counterpart are rather striking, I can safely assume that I am dealing with an entirely fictional character. That being the case, I see no problem in changing her name. Stephen Heller was a famous and very prolific Hungarian composer (1813-1888), famous for his Études for piano. __(3) William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet._


	17. Chapter 17

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 17**

_**The fine art of tree climbing**_

_**ooo**_

"_**It is a wise father that knows his own child."**_

_**William Shakespeare**_

_**ooo**_

"_**There is always Music amongst the trees in the Garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it." **_

_**Minnie Aumonier**_

_**ooo**_

"_**To heal mine aching moods,**_

_**Give me God's virgin woods."**_

_**Clinton Scollard**_

_**ooo**_

Riding in the beautiful Salzburg countryside did wonders to Captain Georg von Trapp´s disposition, just as he expected he would. For the first thirty minutes, he had to constantly remind himself _not_ to think about his most unusual governess or his children. Once he finally was able to void his mind of any thoughts about home, he was able to enjoy himself. His mind became fully focused on the task of riding, and even when it wandered in another direction, it would be towards pleasant thoughts – to Vienna, and finally to Elsa. He anticipated riding in the countryside with his bride-to-be, and showing off his property. Nevertheless, the pleasant reveries came to abrupt end, when a most unusual sight greeted him when he approached the stables.

"What is _she_ up to now?" he whispered between clenched teeth, making Pluto come to a sudden halt. Amidst a group of trees, he was free to watch the scene developing before him, without being seen.

The new governess was marching towards one of the oak trees. It was a miserable excuse of a march, but at least it was the only way he would describe her stance. She looked like a female – for some reason he felt reluctant to call her a woman – with a purpose. One very angry and determined female.

"_One hour and thirty-five minutes,_" he thought, glancing at his pocket watch with an almost imperceptible smirk. The children were undoubtedly trying to set another record.

To his utter and absolute dismay, the governess proceeded to _climb the tree_. When she started doing that, he noticed something else – she was barefoot. She disappeared among the branches, and the last thing he saw was her legs, covered with the usual black stockings, and the hint of a white petticoat beneath the skirts of her unspeakable gray dress. He continued to watch, with a deep frown marring his brow, while all he could see was some moving branches.

Something dropped to the ground. One, then two. Fräulein Maria's sturdy and badly worn black shoes. She soon followed, but not by climbing down by the same branches she had used to go up the tree. Apparently she jumped from one of the higher branches, coming to land on the ground – on her backside, because of her loss of balance - with a loud, inelegant moan. He noticed, even from a distance, that her stockings now sported a huge hole in one of her knees. He stifled a grin when she proceeded to rub her wounded posterior after getting up. Other than that, she did not seem to mind it at all the minor damage she had suffered, and hastily proceeded to put her shoes on.

"_The twelfth governess acts more like an eighth child,"_ he thought.

Well, he should give her some credit. At least she had taken the initiative to solve the problem herself, instead of pestering him about how badly the children had behaved and demanding that he – or worse, the children - climbed the tree to fetch her belongings. In spite of the unusual manner in which she had chosen to accomplish the task, he had to concede that she had won a few points in her favor. Could the Reverend Mother be right to have so much faith into the little Fräulein after all?

Pluto was getting restless, and the Captain gently patted his neck, to quiet him down. As reluctant as he was to admit it, it was… _fun._ At least it was more amusing that doing surveillance work during the war. He was enjoying watching the developments so much that the last thing he wanted was to attract her attention to him.

Apparently, the governess was not done with her task. Next, she walked away from the tree. At first, he thought she was going to leave, but she turned around and looked up, one hand raised to protect her eyes against the sunlight´s glare. Following the direction of her gaze, he saw it – her bizarre firemen´s hat. It was caught in the highest branch.

"_How the devil did they get that up there?_" he wondered.

The Fräulein´s hands went to her head, and it was like she was massaging her scalp, in order to stimulate her brain cells. It must have worked because, following that, she uttered what could be a small cry of triumph, and ran back towards the house.

When she did not return, the Captain decided it was time to move out of his hiding place. He still had some work to do in his study and, besides, it was almost time to start getting ready for dinner. The importance of punctuality had been more than stressed with his new employee, and he did not wish to set the worst possible example by being late himself.

"_I must lead by example_," he thought.

However, by the time he was halfway towards the stables, she was back again. She was carrying… He halted Pluto again, refusing to believe his eyes.

"_Where on earth did she get _that_?_" he wondered.

His new governess was equipped with full fishing gear. She used the rod to poke the hat, high on the tree, letting out a cry of sheer frustration when she realized it was simply not long enough. Dropping the useless equipment next to her, she marched to the tree once more, and, for the second time, she began to climb it.

That did it. He had to interfere; otherwise she would inflict some serious damage upon herself. That was one extra complication he did not need in his life. Most of all, the Reverend Mother did not deserve one of her precious charges returned to her with a few broken bones, black sheep or not. She had even made him promise that her postulant would return to the Abbey unscathed.

Dismounting and patting Pluto's neck, the Captain walked towards the tree.

Looking up, he saw her, or rather; he saw her feet, dangerously high.

"Fräulein!"

The governess was clearly startled by his sudden interference, because she jumped a little, letting out a little yelp when the branch on which she had her left foot broke. As a result she held on to the main branch for dear life, while he held his breath, mentally preparing himself to be ready to catch her if she fell.

"Hallo!" Her greeting absurdly cheerful, as if being high on top of a tree was the most natural thing in the world for her. She sounded like she was a fellow officer whom he met casually during a walk on the sunny deck of a ship.

"You will come down _at once!_" he yelled.

"Yes, but my hat…" She looked waywardly above her, as if willing the hat to fly to her.

"Forget the blasted hat; I'll make sure you get another one." Then he thought, "_Tomboy or not, she will still be in need of a hat_," remembering his appalling lack of manners when earlier he had ordered her to remove it in his presence.

"Oh, don't worry, Captain. I am very, _very_ good at this." She replied as her foot found another branch on which to support her weight. She began to climb higher again, her task evident.

"Fräulein…"

"I am quite safe, I assure you. I´ve been told that I started climbing trees before I could even walk properly." He sneered at her obvious fabrication. "You see, Captain, you must face each tree as a new adventure. They are so fascinating there aren´t too of them alike, you never know what you will find. I suppose it is the same for you when you go out to sea and you..."

"Fräulein!" he barked.

"Hmmmm…?" She looked down at him.

This would be one of the images that would haunt his dreams in the next few weeks. The bright-eyed wonder in her eyes as she looked down upon him from her perch in the tree. The green of the leaves surrounding her blonde hair and blue eyes, the hint of her petticoat escaping from underneath her dress. It was all completely innocent, and yet, as he would later learn, it was oddly alluring. Yet, at the moment, it was nothing but infuriating to him.

"Come down immediately!" he barked his command. This time he left no room for misunderstandings.

"All right, all right," she said, and stopped climbing. As she began trying to get down, she suddenly stopped. "Oooh," she murmured.

"What?" the Captain hissed.

"This has _never_ happened before," she sounded very serious. "Never!" she stressed.

"Considering what I have seen from you in the past two hours, I do have trouble believing that, Fräulein," he nearly choked. "Now _get down!_"

"But I'm stuck!" She looked around her, looking for an escape. "Oh, I can´t believe it!"

"What do you mean _stuck_?" he asked, irritably.

"I mean that I can't move. I cannot go up or down. I'm… caught!" She began frantically searching for another foothold, another branch to bring her closer to the ground.

"I know the meaning of the term, Fräulein. However, I am also aware of the fact that in nature, everything that goes up must come down again, and so, quite frankly, I cannot understand _how_ you can be - uh - stuck!"

"Well, Captain, I am known to defy the laws of nature from time to time. Sister Berthe could probably tell you about when I…"

"Fräulein, this is no time for chit-chatting about your unique talent for disaster!"

By this time they had also attracted the attention of the ones who were obviously responsible for the governess´s dire situation – his seven children. They had been _marching around the grounds, breathing deeply,_ as ordered. Their perfect line had attracted the attention of their Fräulein, because she now watched them, from the treetop, her mouth agape.

"Oh look there they are. Why do they have to march like that?" she asked.

"They _always_ march like that," was his impatient answer. The children were now forming a perfect line behind him.

"Oh, that's terrible," she replied, sounding horrified by the idea. Seemingly forgetting her task at hand – vacating the tree. "Why don't they just run across the lawn or play?"

"This is no time questioning my educational methods. Would you please come down from that tree? I would rather not have my children's governess with a broken neck."

The children began laughing. He silenced them with one of his glares.

"Oh, but I am serious, Captain. I _am_ stuck. The branch I used to climb up here broke with my weight. I cannot go back down. It is that simple. And I can't go up either – not that it would be of any use… You see? _Stuck!_"

She sounded mad, he thought. Like being stuck up in a tree was a situation too preposterous for someone like her. And she kept justifying herself.

"This has _never_ happened to me before," she mumbled, as if trying to make sense of her critical situation.

"There is a first time for everything, isn't there?" he said, scathingly. "Now, Fräulein, if you stay calm…"

"I am calm, I assure you, Reverend… I mean, Captain. This is _not_ the worst thing that has happened to me, by far," she said.

"Remind me _never_ to ask what was the worst thing that has happened to you," he muttered.

The children were now whispering among themselves, which attracted his attention back to them.

"You stand back and keep quiet," he ordered, glaring furiously. He did not want that mad postulant/governess falling on one of the children and causing an even more serious accident. "Friedrich?"

"Yes, father?" asked the boy, stepping out of the line.

"Take Pluto back to the stables, please."

"But father…" the boy began to complain, obviously not wanting to miss the rest of the show.

"Friedrich!" he barked.

"All right, sir," his son complied, leaving the line and walking towards Pluto. His horse, as he was amused to notice, was there where he had left him, and was apparently watching the whole scene with regal, aristocratic indifference.

Gazing up again, he noticed that her face was white, and her wide eyes were fixed on the stallion.

"_Oh please, not another horse fearing governess!_" he cursed inwardly. "You, Fräulein, just do as I tell you," he addressed her.

"Captain, forgive me for asking, are you an expert in the fine art of climbing trees?" her voice spoke from above.

He ignored her mocking question, while he circled the tree as if he was circling a military target.

"Of course you are, I´ve been told you are an expert in _everything,_" he heard her grumbling, probably not realizing she was speaking aloud.

"I can see a branch below your right foot. Can't you reach it?" He asked.

"I can't see it but I shall try." She replied a bit unsure of his question.

She started sliding down very carefully. There was nothing to hold on to, so all she could do was to hug the tree trunk with her arms and legs.

"I can't find it," she yelled. "Where is it?"

"Just below your right foot. Keep going. Very carefully now."

She finally reached the saving branch, with an audible sigh of relief.

"Now stay where you are. I'll…"

He stopped speaking, as he heard the unmistakable sound of a broken branch, and Maria's startled cry. His military instincts took over, and he found himself lunging to catch her.

Later, he would tell himself that he would have done the same for _anyone_. If Frau Schmidt had been in the unlikely situation of being about to fall from that tree, and if he was in a position in which he could prevent the worst from happening, his gentlemanly instincts would certainly take over and he would try to catch her. The fact that it was Fräulein Maria up there was only a minor detail, of scarcely any importance.

In the end, her fall was slowed by some smaller branches being broken by her decent. He reached her just as she cleared the last branch, and they fell into a heap of legs, arms, twigs, and leaves. She greeted the whole incident with a peal of laughter, while he became furious. He began trying to disentangle himself from her. He rolled her over onto the ground, reversing their positions, while she continued to laugh.

The whole scene did not last more than one second, but it was more than enough to give him another image of her that would haunt him for months to come. There, beneath him, her legs tangled with his, her arms grasping her stomach in merriment, tears streaming from her bright eyes, cheeks flushed from her climbing of the tree, was his children's governess. The young, innocent, virtuous, soon-to-be-nun who was soft and tender in all of the right places was beneath him in a manner which he had rarely experienced fully clothed. To make matters worse, she was clearly completely oblivious not only to what their particular position implied but to the sudden, traitorous response of his own body.

He became furious with her, with himself, for putting him in that situation. The fact that he seemed completely unable to fire the girl on the stop only fueled his growing anger. He abruptly found his feet and began stalking off.

"_I must have been without a woman for too long – that is the only possible explanation,_" he concluded, considering how the closeness to such an unlikely female had affected him. He quickly turned his thoughts to Vienna, and to Baroness Schraeder. For the first time he wondered if keeping her at arm´s length was a good idea. "_Elsa – she is the only one who can cure me of this _madness_, before I lose my mind."_

Meanwhile, Liesl and Louisa had succeeded in poking her hat, which fell to the ground. He yanked it from Louisa's hand, scowling, and then handled it to the governess, who was now trying to get up, with the help of Brigitta and Kurt, tears still streaming from her eyes.

"Thank you Captain… children…" she said, raising her head to look at him, but not for more than a second.

"Fräulein, I'm afraid your dress has got a tear," informed Liesl, pointing to the left side of Maria's waist.

"Oh dear," she mumbled, her laughter finally dying. "Well, I guess I must run if I want this to be fixed before dinner!" She turned to him, questioningly. "Captain?"

"You are excused, Fräulein," he grumbled.

"Thank you," she nearly whispered, and scurried away, limping slightly, but clearly doing her best to keep her dignity intact.

Only then he realized – not once had she accused the children. They were all staring at him now – Friedrich too, who had just returned from the stables. Yes, they were expecting him to yell and scream at them, to send them to their rooms without dinner not only because of their latest prank in their governess, but especially because of the consequences of it.

He did neither of those things.

"Now, you just go to your rooms and change for dinner," he said, in the commanding tone he always used to speak to them, ever since his wife died. "_Now!_"

The children nodded, and began to leave in line.

For the first time in years, the Captain allowed the sight of his children silently marching away to tug at his heart.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Maria exclaimed breathlessly, closing the door to her room and leaning against it. "What on earth have I gotten myself into?"

She stood there for a few minutes, catching her breath, her hands clutching her fast beating heart, while she recalled the events of the previous hours, trying to make sense of it all.

Only two days ago she had wandered in the mountains, with not a care in the world. Today she was in the house of a widower with seven children who were proving to be incorrigible pranksters. More than that, not only her employer was a sea captain and a Baron – which to her was overwhelming enough - but he also rode a horse named after the king of the underworld himself! And she had fallen over him like a sack of potatoes!

She did not know what terrified the most: the children, their father – who did look like the devil incarnate when he was angry - or the horse. Because terrified was how she felt now, and that was _not_ a very comfortable feeling, at least it was not a feeling she was used to. Not anymore – not since she had entered the Abbey.

There were the children to begin with. The frog in her pocket had been only the first of a series of pranks, which had culminated in her shoes and hat ending up on top of a tree, was not enough to discourage her. She felt like she had to prove something to them, and to herself. It had been a maddening succession of practical jokes, and she had to admire them not only for their creativity, but also on the way that they managed to trick her so that she did not realize until it was too late.

And then there was the whole incident that followed…

"_Sister Berthe would make me scrub the kitchen floor for the rest of my life if she knew I fell from a tree and landed on top of Captain von Trapp, decorated officer of the Imperial Navy. And the Reverend Mother –dear God, what will she think when she learns that I… that I…,_" she avoided the specific memories of the event by removing a couple of leaves that still clung to her hair.

Although she typically enjoyed climbing trees, she hadn't planned on having to do so in order to retrieve her belongings. She removed her now-torn dress and began searching her bag for a needle and thread.

"Oh Lord, I hope the Captain is not too keen on first impressions," she spoke to herself. Because, as first impressions go, she had surely made a cake out of herself. It was not her running mouth she had not been able to control, but it seemed like her employer had an unusual ability of catching her in the most embarrassing situations. He had caught her dancing in his ballroom, and then, later, he had watched, astonished, as she fell from a tree to the ground, landing on her bottom – which, by the way, was now extremely sore. Then, lastly, falling on top of him.

"_Is there no end to my humiliation today?_" She looked heavenward for an answer.

He had been so angry at her, and all she had been able to do was laugh. She had laughed not at him, but at the absurdity of it all. She had spent most of her childhood climbing trees, and she guessed that she climbed a tree at least once a week, even while being a postulant. Never, _not once,_ had she become stuck in a tree, or even fallen from it. She had fallen from rooftops, from windows, from stairs, from chairs, from tables, form her bed, from a horse – which was why she feared them. Not from a tree. _Never_ from a tree. She certainly had never landed on top of anyone, least of all a sea captain. Why did it have to happen now, when in the midst of such an aristocratic household run by such a forbidding man?

"Well, at least I will still be able to redeem myself at dinner," she considered, optimistically.

The Captain seemed obsessed with punctuality – among other things. And she had never been late for a meal all her life, on the contrary. There was no reason why she would start being late now…


	18. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 18**

_**The Baroness and the pine cone**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-down beds. **_

_**Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that. **_

_**So the prince took her for his wife, for now he knew that he had a real princess; and the pea was put in the museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it. **_

_**There, that is a true story." **_

_**Hans Christian Andersen **_

_**ooo**_

_**"O fateful flower beside the rill-  
>The daffodil, the daffodil!""<strong>_

_**Jean Ingelow, "Persephone"**_

_**ooo**_

Captain Georg Ritter von Trapp had been the first to arrive at the dining room that evening. He was not particularly happy – not that he particularly remembered how _happiness_ felt like – at least not for a number of years. That afternoon had been singularly distressing to him. The certainty and relief that he had felt after his audience with the Reverend Mother had evaporated as soon as he had taken his first look at the governess the old nun had sent to take care of his children. A few hours and several mishaps later he firmly believed that, if that was the respectable nun´s idea about a joke, she indeed had a poor sense of humor!

Granted, he almost felt sorry for the poor misfit, as for the two hours following her arrival, she had endured prank after prank after prank, without uttering a single complaint about his children – at least, not to his knowledge and not to him in person. Finally, to culminate everything, there was that incident with the tree…

No, no,no. He should not brood too much about that one. He would not.

When he went to inspect the dining room, as he usually did half an hour or so before dinner, he discovered something that the little Fräulein did not know yet: that her troubles for the day had not yet ended.

"_I wonder what will be her reaction to this trick,_" he thought, as soon as he saw the pine cone in the governess chair. "_I wonder if it will be this silly, harmless pine cone that will have the power to send the young postulant running back to Nonnberg Abbey before the day is over…_"

Scowling, he took the offending object in his hands, examining it carefully. As far as pine cones were concerned, this one was a particularly nasty one. Whoever had the misfortune of sitting on it would not escape unscathed – at least not without a painful sting in his or her posterior.

He considered the possibility for the moment. So far, they had placed a frog in her pocket, hidden her shoes and hat in the highest tree and – from what his housekeeper had told him – had flooded her bathroom. The little Fräulein had undoubtedly been spooked, but so far the children had not physically harmed her. It was something they had never done before, in fact, a line they had never crossed. The practical jokes were designed to annoy, to anger. They were usually messy, sometimes disgusting, and slightly cruel on occasion. However, they had never resorted to inflicting pain, even a minimal amount of it, in any of their previous governesses. Not that sitting in a pine cone was likely to send the poor little misguided Fräulein Maria to the nearest hospital, but still, it was an unusual prank as far as his children were considered.

"_Her backside had to be sore after falling from that tree," _he thought, with a chuckle. "_Twice_."

Once again, he considered the new pattern in the children's jokes. He considered, for instance, the fact that lately, some of the tricks had been devised to remind him of Agathe…

The usual wave of memories washed over him.

"Damn!" he cursed.

It was happening again. How long would he remain a prisoner of his past? How long until the simplest of objects such as a single, ridiculous, pine cone would be enough to bring an uncontrollable rush of remembrances?

The story of the pine cone was part of the von Trapp family chronicles, and in the good old days, the late Baroness von Trapp loved to share it with her children. They loved it, and would ask her to repeat it night after night, because of its resemblance the princess and the pea fairy tale - only more interesting, in their opinion.

It all began as a joke between the Captain and his paternal grandmother. When Georg was trying to make up his mind about proposing to Miss Agathe Whitehead, there had been a few days when he had wondered if that was the right thing to do, if the woman he had chosen as a bride was indeed the best one for him to spend the rest of his life with, if he loved her enough to abandon the carefree lifestyle of a bachelor. More than that, although Agathe had lived among seamen all of her life, he wondered if it would be fair to the woman he loved to leave her from months at a time, never sure if he was ever coming back. Would he be able to do that to her, and to the children who would hopefully result from their marriage? Worse, in such dangerous times, would his duties with the Navy permit him to stay home long enough to actually produce a child?

Oh yes, he loved Agathe Whitehead, with every single fiber of his being. He never doubted it, but he also knew his role in life well, and what was expected of him. Marrying purely out of love was a luxury the von Trapp´s had not been able to afford for generations. Then his grandmother, whom he always knew to be a hopeless romantic, mentioned the fairy tale.

"_Are you suggesting a pea under her mattress?_" Georg had asked the distinctive old lady, irritably.

"_Heavens, no! Naturally you need something more_… _obvious._"

"_You can´t be serious about this, grandmamma!_"

"_O-ho, but I am!_"

"_Such as?_"

"_Don´t sneer like that, Georg! I am serious. Just put a… let us say, __a _pine cone_ in her chair during a formal dinner party and watch her carefully as she deals with the situation. That should tell you everything you need to know_."

"_Do tell me, grandmother, how does a pine cone in her chair will prove Agathe´s suitability as the wife of a sea captain? Don´t you think I am too old to believe in fairy tales_?"

"_As I am too old _not_ to believe them_." Her witty response had made him smile. "_You would be surprised, Georg. There is more to these children´s stories than you think. You´ll see,_" she winked.

He had thought his grandmother´s idea was too ludicrous, too… nonsensical to be taken seriously. But then, when the time came, he had found himself in the Vienna woods in the middle of the night, hunting for the thorniest, nastiest pine cone he could find.

The following evening, he had escorted Miss Agathe Whitehead to the table. How would she behave in a room full of aristocrats, dignitaries, diplomats, not to mention a couple of crowned heads when she realized that there was more than a comfortable, velvet cushioned pillow in the chair she had sat on?

He remembered holding his breath while she daintily sat down.

And then…

Except for a slightly raised eyebrow, she had not moved a muscle. Her eyes had widened a bit in surprise, but that might have been only his imagination. Then she had turned to him and gave him her brightest, most perfect smile. Agathe had reacted to his prank like the lady he knew her to be.

"_This is ridiculous_," he had thought afterwards.

The prank had only told him what he already knew, it changed nothing. The decision had already been made days before, he only had not been brave enough to go through with it. With his mind firmly set, he proposed to her that same evening, knowing it was the right thing to do.

The only thing to do.

He had never believed the silly pine cone incident had _nothing_ to do with his decision to marry, but when he told his wife the story during their honeymoon, she thought it was so romantic that she chose to believe it had…

It was only when they were celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary that Agathe confessed that she had actually _cheated_. She had seen the pine cone, had seen him putting it there. When she sat down, she had brushed it aside.

"_The look in your face was as priceless then as it is now_," she laughed. "_Cheer up, darling. That is the one secret I´ve managed to keep from you all my life. My only victory against that cunning, strategist´s mind of yours!_"

They laughed about it. And the pine cone tale was forgotten for a very long time.

Until that evening, when the 12th in the line of governess first came to the house… Fräulein Maria, who looked nothing like a governess, who looked even less like a nun, but very much like a tomboy.

A troublemaker.

_The Black Sheep of Nonnberg Abbey_.

He had met her for a total of no more than ten minutes earlier that day, and already listed more reasons why he should not keep her as a governess to his children that he cared to number. Outspoken, loud, no respect for authority, no self discipline whatsoever, nosy, appalling taste in clothes - although he had to admit that might not have been her fault. He cringed when he thought about what kind of influence such a… such a wisp of a girl would have over his children.

Captain von Trapp stared at the pine cone in his hands for a long moment. He had been holding it too tight and it bit into his palms. Thinking about the new governess had annoyed him inexplicably.

He shrugged. It should not concern him so much. All he had to do was fire her, whenever he felt like it. Yes, he assured the Reverend Mother he would not do it until he returned from Vienna, but he was certain that, if he explained everything, she would sympathize with his motives and would not blame him for breaking his promise. He could do it, this evening, if he needed to. He did not have to be burdened with such a troublesome employee for no longer than it was necessary. He never had before, and never would. Maybe the little pine cone will serve him a second time, to make his decision quicker and easier to make.

"_She is outspoken and loud, she won´t be able to control herself. She will bring the house down. She will completely ruin a perfectly decent meal by yelling at the top of her lungs, then she will lash out at the children for their trickery, or at me for bringing up such hoydens. All I will have to do will be to fire her on the spot._"

With a mischievous inner smile, he returned the pine cone to the same spot where his daughter had carefully placed it a few minutes before.

Who knows? It might help him to find a suitable governess…

Dinner was a unique experience that evening. Number twelve had not been fired yet, and he had no idea why.

The Captain went to the one place in his house where he could brood in peace – his study. It was his sanctuary, probably because it was the only room in the house where his wife´s influence was not so tangible. It was true that wherever he looked there were memories – of the sea, of war – but no visible reminder of the love he had lost. Those he kept locked in the first drawer of his desk.

He tried to concentrate on the problems with the French submarine. The idea was to make it adaptable to new, state of the art, sonar technologies. _Silence_ was the key. Whatever he did with it, the boat had to be silent, in order to avoid detection by the enemy. That instantly made him think that even if they ever allowed women inside submarines, certainly no Navy in the world would want that Fraülein Maria in their crew – although it would be a fine way to sabotage them…

He chuckled at the thought.

Make her a double agent and infiltrate her in one the enemy submarine crews. Five minutes and they would have all the allied fleet chasing their U-boat, considering the impressive amount of decibels she had managed to produce when she had sat at the dinner table…

Suddenly, he wasn´t thinking about the sea anymore. He was most certainly _not_ thinking about a certain so-called governess. At least he was trying hard not to.

The Captain was once again thinking about the important issue of _pine cones._

He remembered that conversation with his grandmother, when she had suggested it to play the prank on his bride to be. She had been a very astute, cunning woman – a scholar, a fact that in itself was enough to make her one of a kind. She never said things gratuitously, without having a good reason for it. If she had suggested a pine cone, then there had to be something behind it, a small detail that made it meaningful. Otherwise it would be any other object – a fork, a sharp rock would do just fine, and easier to find in downtown Vienna in the middle of the night.

Following the train of his thoughts, his eyes then wandered to a small collection of books he kept in a separate shelf. Among them, there were his grandfather's books, about heraldry – the old man had a passion for the subject. The Trapp family crest held a special fascination for him, and Georg remembered when, as a little boy, his grandfather would talk about it for hours, explaining every tiny little detail, every symbol, every line. The Captain never guessed his grandmother shared her husband's interest; she never gave any indication of that – on the contrary, she would joke about it. Heraldry had everything to do with symbolism, so maybe…

Resolutely, the Captain walked to the shelf and picked up a particularly dusty volume. It was an old encyclopedia of heraldry, one of his grandfather's favorite books, and one which he carried everywhere and was always consulting. It contained the main symbols used in family crests in Europe. He opened it at the letter "P" and began his research.

Pansies…

"_A colorful flowering plant. Pansy divination was said to be a method of fortune telling supposedly used by the Knights of the Round Table. It involved randomly picking a petal off a pansy and looking at its markings. Denotes love, freedom of thought and reflection, and also of good fortune_."

He had always thought the colorful little flowers were too fragile and delicate for his taste, but… Freedom of thought, indeed! Interesting. That governess looked like him to be the kind who would love the silly flowers, judging by the inappropriate way she chose to speak her mind. If he had them planted in his garden, she would undoubtedly crown herself with them. That alone reminded him to tell the garden _never_ to plant any pansies, at least while that Fräulein was around.

He cursed – why the devil was he even thinking about the silly creature?

He continued his search.

Phoenix…

"_The mythical bird that lives for 500 years, builds its own funeral pyre, is consumed by the flames, and rises anew from the ashes. This bearing symbolizes the rising and setting of the sun, as well as immortality, resurrection, and life after death_."

Life after death… No, no, not now, he muttered to himself, banishing the disturbing thoughts from his troubled mind.

Pigeon, pike, pillar, pineapple, pincers…

Pine cones!

There it was.

"_The tree of life and humanity. A pine tree in the forest symbolizes long-suffering, steadfast friendships, and enduring fame._"

Well, so far, it all seemed harmless enough. He was already wondering if he wasn´t reading too much into his grandmother´s idea when his eyes fell upon the next phrase.

"_According to Virgil, early Romans decorated pine trees with little masks of Bacchus (a fertility god). As the wind blew the masks around, Bacchus was believed to grant fertility to every part of the tree the masks faced. It is said to symbolize immortality, resiliency, longevity, and rebirth_..."

"Hah!"

He closed the book with a loud thud. There was a smug look in his face, because he had deciphered another one of his grandmother's enigmas. So there was a reason why she had chosen that particular object. Knowing his grandmother he knew it had not been picked at random. He read the entry over and over again. Clever woman, his grandmother – not that he had ever doubted that.

_Fertility gods!_

Well, Agathe ended up giving him seven children, hadn´t she?

Still trying to keep a scientific approach, he looked at entries in similar books, and the words he read danced in his mind.

Inflammable nature… fire… an emblem of…

Of _what?_

He had to read the word twice. His eyes widened, and he threw the small book away, shaking his head, but smiling mischievously.

"Grandmother!" he exclaimed aloud.

Well, he should have guessed, shouldn't he? He reached for another heavy volume.

Union of positive and negative forces… a talisman of abundance, fecundity, good luck… a symbol of Artemis, among the ancient Greeks…

Closing his eyes, he made an effort to recall what he knew about Greek mythology.

_Artemis, or Diana, goddess of light, protector of the vulnerable… The moon goddess… Maiden divinity… _

Sitting back in his chair, he allowed the flood of information gathered in his memory t flow freely.

_Protectress of the young… Quick to defend the powerless… Allowed by her father Zeus to live without having to be distracted by love and marriage… Granted permission not to have to dress like a lady… Had the task of bringing light into the world… Was given all the mountains on the earth to live on… Untamed spirit… Able to bring down the most terrible of beasts… Fierce in the protection of gentle creatures… Impulsive… Punished those who tried to thwart her commitment to reaching her goals or invaded her privacy…_

It had little to do with Agathe, he had to admit. Some parts just did not match at all. Never dressed as a lady… his late wife had always been known in their social circle for her elegance and poise. Untamed, impulsive… Who, his Agathe? No, never.

However…

He had met her only for a few hours, but he believed himself to be a good judge of character. And what he remembered of Artemis, the moon goddess, was a perfect description of…

"_Well, maybe not_," he smiled.

For some reason it was easier for him to picture the little Fräulein not as an eternally virginal Artemis but rather as an unsuspecting Persephone, wandering in the meadows picking flowers…

_Daffodils_, if he remembered correctly. Not a very happy flower indeed!

But then, as the ground opened up and the god of the underworld himself, Hades, came to abducted her and make her his wife…

He paused for a moment, frowning. The scene was perfectly clear in his mind, like a painting with bright, vivid colors. Yes, he wasn´t sure if he disliked it entirely or of if he liked it a little bit too much. For a fleeing moment he found himself ridiculously, but insanely envious of the king of the underworld, and in the next he was contemplating the possibility of picturing _himself_ in the role. Well, it would be a fitting role for him, at least, the darkest of all Greek divinities!

He never knew if it was the unexpected direction his thoughts had taken, or the noise he heard, coming from upstairs, that made him stand up, with a jolt.

Irritably, he ran towards the source of the inopportune sounds. Laughter, singing… He had to deal with it at once.

And yet, something told him, deep inside, that it would not be the last time he would find himself brooding about the curious little connection between pine cones, daffodils, Greek goddesses… and a governess!

_A/N: All "quotations" in this chapter were extracted from the website "Armorial Gold Heritage Dictionary"._


	19. Chapter 19

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 19**

_**Rheumatism**_

_**ooo**_

"_**The devil is and always has been a gentleman.**_"

_**Diane LaVey**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Life is a race, where some succeed,  
>While others are beginning;<br>'Tis luck, at times, at others, speed,  
>That gives an early winning.<br>But, if you chance to fall behind,  
>Ne'er slacken your endeavor;<br>Just keep this wholesome truth in mind:  
>'Tis better late than never!"<br>**_

_**John Dyer**_

_**ooo**_

It had been ingenuous of Maria to believe that her first dinner with the Trapp family would go without any incidents, as she had been optimistically hoping for.

To begin with, she had not succeeded in her firm resolve not to be late. By the time she had cleaned all the mess in the bathroom and tended to her badly scraped knee, it was almost dinner time, and she had yet to mend her torn dress. Unless she wanted to go to dinner in her nightgown, or in her habit, she would have to fix her gown first. As a result, when she was finally ready, she realized she was about five minutes late.

She dashed into the dining room, and stopped as soon as she realized that her worst fears had become true – the whole family was already waiting for her. The Captain sat at the head of the table, his back towards her. She noted that he had changed from his riding clothes and was now impeccably dressed in a dark suit and tie, and somehow she felt inadequate in her drab gray dress. He turned slightly when she entered, then followed her with his eyes, as she slowly, and as gracefully as she could possibly manage, walked to her seat, opposite to his.

"_Don't glare at me like that," _she wanted to scream. "_How dare you? __You know very well _why_ I am late, and your children know it too. So don't you dare bark one of your _"Fräulein"´s _at me now, or I won't be able to control myself, I swear I won´t._"

It was almost like he had read her mind, because the glare was all she received in answer to her cool and polite "_Good evening_."

"Good evening, Fräulein Maria," the children replied dutifully, and in unison. That should have been her first clue that something was, again, amiss.

What happened next was one of those memorable moments that would be etched in her mind forever. Daintily, she gathered the skirts of her dress and started to sit down – only to leap up instantly, when she felt the stinging pain in her already bruised backside.

"Whaaaah ha ha ha!" She screamed.

Looking down at the seat of her chair, she saw an innocent pine cone sitting there. Her gaze flew to the Captain, who watched her, with a somewhat mystified expression on his face.

"Enchanting little ritual. Something you, uh, learned at  
>the Abbey?" he asked, in a paused, deadly cold tone.<p>

"No, it's – uh - er - um ..." Maria patted her read, while she desperately thought of a possible explanation. "Rheumatism," she said at last, only because it was the first thing that came to mind.

She did not want to betray the children. She would not tell on them. That was probably where the eleven previous governesses had gone astray – leading her to be the twelfth. She did not have any illusions about the fact that her stay in that house was going to be a short one, considering the mess that she had made of her arrival, combined with the endless series of practical jokes she had been a victim to, culminating into her unscheduled fall from the tree. Not to mention _him_ of course – a whole Navy of tobacco chewing, blaspheming sea captains would be easier to deal with than that arrogant, mule headed…

No, never mind her employer now. The important thing was that, before she left, she wanted to make sure to teach those little terrors a lesson, so that the thirteenth governesses would have an easier time. It was the least she could do to help them and not have the Reverend Mother too upset with her.

She sat down, brushing the offending pine cone aside, and wincing a little when her bottom touched the chair. With the corner of her eyes, she noticed the children glancing at each other, uncertainly.

"_Yes, my little dears, I _am_ up to something,_" she thought.

The Captain started to eat, and it was the signal the children were waiting for in order follow suit.

"Excuse me Captain, haven't we forgotten to thank the Lord?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She looked at him, ready to apologize, when she was surprised to see his acquiescence of her request, albeit a reluctant gesture. She noted that the children followed the lead of their father.

"_Interesting,_" she thought.

"For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."

"Amen," he replied, defeated, but even from a distance the fire in those dark blue eyes burned her with his intensity.

The food looked incredibly appetizing, and it smelled delicious, but Maria had a brief moment of confusion, when she noticed the various pieces of silverware around her plate. So much more than the spoon, knife and fork she was accustomed to during the simple meals at the Abbey. Sometimes, it was just the spoon.

"Oh help," she whispered in a low voice.

Someone else noticed her brief confusion.

"This one Fräulein Maria," whispered the little girl who had said before that she liked her, pointing to one of the forks.

"Thank you Gretl," she whispered back.

Looking very smug, the girl replied, "You're welcome!" From that moment on, Maria would look at the little girl, seeking her silent approval, before selecting the next piece of silverware. It worked beautifully, and it was reassuring to her, that she had made at least one friend in that distinguished, but gloomy household.

Deciding that it was the best time for her to deliver the first blow, Maria cast a shrewd glance around the table, her eyes narrowing slightly. Everyone was busy eating, the Captain included, but they all stopped instantly when she spoke.

"I'd like to thank each and every one of you for the precious gift you left in my pocket earlier today."

The blow had the desired effect. The children exchanged uneasy looks and had difficulty swallowing their food.

The Captain dropped his fork. The meaning of the gesture was clear enough to Maria – he did not appreciate any kind of conversation at the dinner table, probably even if about the universally safe subject - the weather.

"_I am sorry, Captain, you will have to bear with me. Just this once… Well, maybe a few more times_," Maria thought.

"Uh - what gift?" he asked, staring squarely at her.

Maria glanced at the youngest boy, showing only the slightest hesitation – Kurt was practically begging her not to say anything else. She immediately guessed that _he_ had been the one to leave her the frog.

"It's meant to be a secret, Captain, between the children and me." She replied nonchalantly. She wanted to make the children nervous, but not get them into trouble with their father.

"Uh huh. Then I suggest that you keep it and let us eat," he said briefly, in a tone that clearly indicated that she should stop talking and remain quiet for the rest of the meal. Then he turned his attention back to his plate, assuming – wrongfully – that she was going to keep silent after that.

Maria decided to defy him, and solemnly ignored the message between the lines.

"Knowing how _nervous_ I must have been, a stranger in a new household, knowing how important it was for me to feel accepted, it was so kind and thoughtful of you to make my first moments here so warm and happy and…" she paused briefly, the memory of the earlier events racing through her brain, "… _pleasant_." Her speech finished, she grinned angelically at the Captain. He grinned back, but it was forced, almost like it _hurt_ him to smile.

"_Could that even be called a smile?_" she wondered.

It was like a Cheshire grin, full of hidden meanings, none of them obvious to anyone except for him. It was a smile that never reached his soul, because the upward tilt of the corner of his lips did not match the expression in his eyes. It was a half-smile in more ways than one. Slightly menacing and dangerous, and maybe it was the cause of the goose bumps down her arms.

"_Well, I've often seen a cat without a grin,_ thought Alice, _but a grin without a cat? It's the most curious thing I've seen in all my life!"_ (1) - she remembered the words from Alice in Wonderland. Paraphrasing Alice, the von Trapps – more specifically, the head of the family - were far from a bunch of grinning cats, but they were certainly the most curious people she had met in all her life.

Next to the Captain, Marta began to sob.

"What is the matter, Marta?" was his impatient question. The Cheshire grin was gone, and the martinet was back.

"Nothing," the girl answered simply.

Maria smiled to herself triumphantly, as the rest of the children broke down into sobs, one by one. It was much better than she could have expected. She had considered a number of different possible reactions, but certainly not this collective bout of crying. The Captain was equally astonished, as glanced around the table, until his fiery gaze landed on her. She kept eating, slowly chewing on her food, until he spoke, his scathing satire biting her – accompanied once more by the deadly, wicked grin.

"Uh - Fräulein, is to be at every meal or merely at dinner time that you intend leading us all through this rare and wonderful new world of... _indigestion_?" The charming grin turned to an ominous frown when he barked the last word.

"Oh, they're all right, Captain. They're just happy," she said, matter-of-factly, as if seven children crying on a dinner table was a normal occurrence in such an elegant household.

That was enough to make the children sob louder.

"All right, all right, do be quiet now," he commanded. "_All_ of you," he added meaningfully.

The meal proceeded in silence for quite a while after that. Yet, Maria was still disturbed. It could be all in her mind, or only a coincidence, but, following that incident, every time she looked at the head of the table, Captain von Trapp seemed to be watching her with undivided attention. Her reaction was always the same - look away immediately and pretend she had not noticed it. It seemed – it _felt _he was dissecting every little detail of her plain looks, her flawed appearance.

In her mind, there were only four possibilities. One, he was mocking her. Two, he was extremely irritated. Three, he was intrigued by the way she was responding to the practical jokes of his children. Four, he was intrigued by _her_. Why would he be anyway? Why would she person be of any interest to him at all? He was an Austrian aristocrat. Her own parents hadn't even done her the favor of telling her who her grandparents were.

Maria shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Swallowing her food was a task, since it seemed like he could detect every little imperfection in her not so perfect manners. Desert was finally served, and her sigh of relief was nearly audible. She had taken too large a bite, as usual – chocolate cake was something that had always been too hard for her to resist. It was because of chocolate she sometimes gave in to the deadly sin of gluttony. However, at that moment, she hardly felt its taste. She struggled with it, trying hard to keep it all inside her mouth and not choking at the same time. She reached for her linen napkin in her lap.

_Oh Lord, where is it?_ She looked down, to see it crumbled next to her feet. Her head snapped up, and she looked heavenward, like if praying for guidance. What would she do now? Would it be bad manners if she just bent down and picked it up? She had absolutely no idea. But maybe, just maybe, it would make no difference if no one was looking at what she was doing.

Yet, she still felt the pair of midnight blue eyes on her.

_He knows,_ she thought. He knew how uncomfortable the whole situation was making her. He had to know she was not used to such a lavishly elaborate dinner table, even if it was just a normal family dinner. Yet, he did nothing to make her at ease, to minimize her discomfort. He did not reassure her that, in good time, she would learn what she needed to know – at least that was what she chose to believe would happen, as soon as she was informed of what kind of man her employer was. For some reason, it was almost like he was _enjoying_ himself by watching her squirm. His five year old daughter had been more understanding about her predicament than he had.

Suddenly, she felt very discouraged, and it felt odd to her that the apparent cause of what she hoped was a momentary frustration was simply a lost napkin. Still, her mind screamed – "_I don't belong here!_ _It was only because the Reverend Mother had insisted to the point of a kind coercion_." The expression a fish out of the water wasn't strong enough for what she felt. She was out of her world, her universe.

There. She finally managed to swallow the giant bit of chocolate cake. She frowned, thinking of the hideous stain she believed to be in the left corner of her mouth. A tiny speck in reality, that could barely be seen by anyone, except by her own mind's eye. She took her hand to her mouth and quickly brushed it away, no longer caring if he was watching her or not. There. It was gone. Maybe that was why he was staring. She gave an audible sigh of relief, and took a sip of her water.

Much better. Yet, she still needed that napkin.

Hastily, she gazed around the table. Everyone seemed to be busy with their desert, even the Captain now. No sound was heard except for the extremely delicate touches of silver ware on porcelain. No one was looking at her.

Slowly, and as carefully as she could, she bent down to pick up her napkin.

It was no longer there!

It was probably Gretl, sitting next to her, who had kicked it away with her restless feet. What was she to do? She had to recover it.

She straightened again, and looked around. Her actions still seemed to be unnoticed by the rest of the dinner party. Gathering courage, she reached for the lost napkin under the table.

There, she had it, safely clutched in her right hand. The relief was so great that she straightened faster than she should have, and her head hit the table.

Eight pairs of eyes were fixed on her now. Some amused, some disapproving. His eyes as well, but she didn't dare to meet them. She didn't need to know, she didn't want to know.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, blushing to the roots of her hair. "I… lost my napkin_,_" she explained.

Chastising and cursing at herself, she vowed not to move a muscle until the meal was over. There was no plausible reason why she should feel so bad, anyway – as if any of those people had never lost or would never lose a napkin under the table. It could happen to any human being, commoner or not.

Maria was relieved from her suffering when Franz entered the room.

"A telegram for you, sir."

Leaning back in his seat, the Captain opened the message and read it, his face inscrutable.

"Father, may I be excused?" Liesl asked, glancing nervously towards the window. Her father's only answer was a grunt, which indicated a negative answer. The girl's disappointment was more than evident to Maria.

Unaware of his elder daughter's uneasiness, the Captain announced. "Children, in the morning, I shall be going to Vienna," he said, casually dropping his napkin on the table, signaling that the meal was over, and that they were now allowed to speak.

The children groaned in response.

"Oh, no, Father!" exclaimed Marta. "My birthday is Tuesday; you are going to miss it - _again_!"

"Not again, Father," said Friedrich. "You just came back!"

The Captain glared at them.

"How long will you be gone this time, Father?" Gretl was brave enough to ask. Maria thought it was funny how the youngest of all the children seemed to be the one who was less afraid of him and refused to be intimidated – by her father or anyone else. It was Gretl who had glared at her father when he had called her attention for not answering to her whistle call. She had defied all her brothers and sisters when she admitted she liked her new governess. Now it was the little one who was asking him what all of them wanted to know.

Liesl took advantage of the commotion and rose with her empty water glass and moved to fill it at a nearby table.

"I'm not sure, Gretl. I'm not sure."

"To visit Baroness Schraeder again?" Louisa asks slyly.

"Mind your own business!" admonished Friedrich, protective of his father, in spite of it all.

"As a matter of fact, _yes_, Louisa."

"Why can't we ever get to see the Baroness?" asked Marta.

Kurt decided to taunt his younger sister. "Why would she want to see you?"

"It just so happens, Marta, that you _are_ going to see the Baroness. I'm bringing her back with me to visit us all."  
>Maria watched as Liesl left quietly, behind her father's back.<p>

"Good!" they exclaimed together.

"Is she as beautiful as they say she is?" asked Brigitta.

"She is," answered Kurt. "Don´t you remember the wedding photograph we found in the at…" the Captain looked at his son sharply and the boy immediately corrected himself. "I mean, the one Gromi showed us?" Around the table, six children sighed in relief.

The Captain looked like he was about to lecture the children again, but quickly decided that it was just not worth it this time. He smiled again, and Maria noticed that it seemed that his smile was more genuine, although it still never reached his eyes.

"_Whoever this lady Baroness is, she is a good influence on him,_" she concluded.

"Yes, but she was young in the picture, like mother and father, and now she must be _old,_" Marta retorted.

"She is beautiful, yes," The Captain said, ending their debate. "Who have you been talking to about the Baroness, Brigitta? Who´s been saying she is beautiful?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The girl looked pensive for a moment. "The cook told the equerry who told the upstairs maid who told Frau Schmidt."

"And who, might I ask, told the cook about the Baroness?" He prodded.

"Franz, of course!" Friedrich exclaimed. "He heard it from Uncle Max the last time he was here, during Christmas."

"This reminds me..." the Captain rolled his eyes, before announcing, "Uncle Max is coming as well."

The children appeared delighted by the prospect of seeing not only the Baroness, but also their Uncle Max. Maria watched them in fascination – she could swear she was witnessing something incredibly rare. The Captain was actually _talking_ to his children, and it show in their faces who much those few, so formal, words they were exchanging meant the world to them, and to him as well – he was as relaxed as she had seen him since her arrival.

"_Maybe there is a flicker of hope for him after all,_" Maria concluded. "_He can still be himself when he is unguarded…_"

He leaned back in his chair, answering a couple of questions he was being asked about the beloved Uncle Max. Maria was right - whoever she was, this Baroness was most definitely a good influence on him, and she would probably do wonders to the children.

Well, not all of them seemed to be happy. With Liesl absent, the only one who wasn't smiling was Louisa. When the cheer silenced, it was her turn to deliver her blow in a voice that was surprisingly icy for a thirteen year old.

"Is she lovelier than mother ever was?"

The Captain visibly tensed, and it was like a dark shadow had fallen over him again. He straightened, his shoulders stiffened, his eyes darkened. A dead silence fell on the room. One could hear a clock ticking. Maria could swear she could hear her own heart beating, and if she were only a couple of chairs closer to the opposite end of the table, she would probably be able to hear the Captain's heart as well.

If she was expecting he would explode, she was wrong. It was her first lesson about his iron control over his emotions. The Captain said nothing. He rose from the table.

"Fräulein, I trust you are aware of what your next duties are," he said, with a curt nod towards her.

"Oh… ehm…" she thought, her mind drawing an absurd blank for a moment. "Oh yes, Captain. Some light reading, and then bedtime. However, Captain, I think…" She wanted to tell him that she thought it was not quite right that Liesl and Friedrich, who were sixteen and fourteen, had to retire at the same time as the little ones.

"I strongly advise you to save your thoughts for later, whatever they are, Fräulein," he interrupted, menacingly. "This is _not_ a good moment."

"_Is there ever a good moment for you, Captain?_" she wanted to snap back at him, but held her tongue just in time.

"Very well, Captain," Maria conceded instead, apparently, subdued.

"Remember – bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions. I want no one wandering around the house after hours." Before anyone could say another world, he excused himself briskly. "Fräulein, children," he said, never meeting any of his children's eyes, and left.

"Why did you have to do that, Louisa?" hissed Friedrich, as soon as his father was gone...

"You know what it does to him," added Brigitta. "It´s cruel!"

"Which is precisely why I do it," was the bitter reply.

"I don't think we'll get anywhere this way," said Friedrich, still angry at his sister.

"We have to try everything, haven't we?" Louisa defended herself.

"She is right," intervened Kurt. Then he looked sadly at his empty desert plate. "At least this time we made him mad _after_ desert! Please, remember that the next time, Louisa. Otherwise I'll forget how a strudel tastes like."

"Who is uncle Max and why are you so happy to see him?" Maria asked trying to change the subject and lighten the children's moods.

Fortunately, her question was enough to bring happier thoughts to the children, and they all started speaking at once. Maria learned that he was an old friend of the Captain, from the Navy days.

Naturally, the gloomy and angry faces were back when Maria, fulfilling her first duty as a governess, announced that it was time for them to leave the table, for their scheduled one hour of reading, before going to bed.

_A/N: (1) Lewis Carroll – Alice´s Adventures in Wonderland (published in 1865)._


	20. Chapter 20

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 20**

_**Observing bedtime**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Man frames his judgment on reason; but woman on love founds her verdict;**_

_**If her judgment loves not, woman already has judged."**_

_**Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**_

_**ooo**_

Captain von Trapp had indeed left her a detailed schedule of the children's activities – twenty-five manuscript pages in a bold handwriting. There had been no time for Maria to read it all before her first meal with the family; in fact she had only read what would be pertinent for the evening. She even wondered if there was such a thing as a dictionary of naval jargon, because she most certainly would need one. For instance, instead of simply stating the time before each scheduled activity, he had divided the day in seven time intervals (1): First watch, morning watch, forenoon watch, afternoon watch, first dogwatch and second dogwatch. She was thankful for the term "afternoon watch" – it gave her an indication that the next two were for the evening activities of the children. Mercifully, she had skimmed these segments while mending her dress.

After the initial dismay at the absurdly intricate set of instructions, Maria had to admit that it was not so complicated after all – on the contrary, it had a logic to it that was simply flawless. It also did not allow the children any free time to play, and she thought she would have to talk to the Captain about the problem as soon as possible… That is, if she managed to keep her job long enough for a conversation.

The Captain's timetable determined that after dinner, the children were required to read for one hour, and at nine, each child should be in his or her bed, with the lights spent. No visiting in each other's room was allowed.

Convincing six of her charges that it was time to go to sleep had been a challenge to her. Convincing them that they needed to read before hand was a completely different matter – it was the next world war. The children simply didn't care for their father's choice of reading material. Not that Maria could blame them, it was simply ghastly. The Captain's choice of book to broaden his children's horizons for that evening had been so boring that by the time Maria had finished reading the first page, the youngest ones were already yawning. Maria herself was yawning, and she had believed at first that getting them to bed would not require too much effort. She was wrong - all it took was her to say that it was time to say good night and they were fully awake again.

Louisa, as usual, was the first one who hinted she would rebel against the order.

"I am not sleepy," she whined.

"Neither am I!" said Marta, yawning. The other children – four of them, since Liesl was still missing – were frowning at her.

"Oh really? One moment ago you were falling asleep while I read your… ehm…" she cleared her throat, gazing at the title of the 872 pages book, "_Treaty on the History of the Imperial and Royal Austro-Hungarian Navy_." The title alone was enough to make her yawn. Naturally she understood that the Captain probably wanted his sons and daughters to know as much as possible about the country he had fought for so bravely. But a _treaty _with _872 pages__?_

"_Hmm – something else I'll have to talk to him about – there must be a better way_," she mused. Then she spoke to the children, trying to sound as firm as she possibly could. "I'm afraid you have no choice – it's your father's orders, my dears. You must go to bed now."

Friedrich had crossed his arms over his chest.

"Make us," he challenged.

Maria sighed deeply.

"I could." They looked at her as if preparing for battle. "But I won´t." It wasn´t her imagination, they looked disappointed. "Children, let us wave a white flag, just for tonight. A _truce_. You know what that is, don't you?" Friedrich uncrossed his arms, and she took it as a good sign. "You must all be exhausted after preparing all of those pranks – dirt in my carpetbag, a frog, shoes and hat in the tree, the flooded bathroom… and whatever other surprises I am sure you have in store for me tonight. Oh, and let us not forget the _pine cone._"

"So?" Louisa asked, insolently.

"So let us make a little pause, shall we? You'll be all rested so that you can start planning what you'll do to me tomorrow. There is nothing like a rested mind to bring new ideas and – you know - _inspiration_…"

Her argument was enough to convince them. Maria followed the line of children, as they made their way to the Captain's study. Friedrich knocked, and they went in to say their goodnights, while Maria remained outside, by the door. In fact, she did not know what to do, if she was supposed to follow them inside or not. In any case, she was simply too tired to face the Captain again, and felt that her temper would flare very easily if he acted in that same insufferable manner again.

The children marched upstairs, and Maria more or less followed their lead, taking each child to their respective rooms, first the girls, then the boys – that too, she remembered from the Captain's schedule.

"Are you really a nun? I don´t believe it," Louisa challenged her."

"You don´t because I am not. But I will be, before the year is over," she answered calmly.

"But you are not old and mean, you do not have a sour face and you do not smell funny!" exclaimed Marta.

"Oh? I did not know all nuns were like that," Maria smiled. "Because they aren´t, that I can assure you."

"She is talking about the sisters at the Ursuline School, Fräulein." Brigitta clarified.

"I see," Maria said simply. The school for girls was known for its high academic standards, but the nuns who taught there were notoriously severe.

"I don´t know," Kurt said, not so easily convinced.

"Why?" Friedrich asked his brother. "You don´t think father is trying to trick us, do you?"

"Why would your father trick you, Friedrich?" Maria asked, amused.

"He might want us to be afraid of you!"

Her jaw dropped – did the Captain know how incredibly perceptive his children were?

"Well, he used to play tricks on us, when mother was alive!"

"He was funny!"

Maria looked heavenward – after spending half a day in his house, she had already drawn many conclusions and could imagine many things about Captain von Trapp already. An irascible, arrogant, stubborn martinet. A handsome devil, although that was a mere detail that had nothing to do with the rest. _Funny_ certainly was certainly not a word she would use to describe him. If she were not so determined to obey their strict bedtime, she would start asking them how exactly their father used to trick them, but she made a little mental note to leave that for later.

But Captain von Trapp a practical joker? Not in a million years!

"Where is Liesl?" she asked, after Marta and Gretl were already tucked in bed. The other children gathered at the door waiting to be dismissed to their bedrooms.

"Outside," answered Kurt. "Ow!" The boy yelped as his brother elbowed him in his ribs.

"Are you sure? It's beginning to rain." Maria looked outside and noticed that it had begun to sprinkle, but a full storm was on the horizon. "Someone should go after her."

"Yes, but there was a telegram delivered to father," added Brigitta, meaningfully.

"What does it have to do with anything?" Maria asked.

"Keep your nose out of everyone else's business, Brigitta." Louisa glared at her then at Maria, hoping that her sister would keep her mouth shut. She instantly guessed what was going on in the children's minds. Yes, she hadn't complained about their tricks to father, but that didn't mean they could trust her with their secrets.

"I don't understand. What does it have to do with your sister?" Maria asked again, confused.

"Rolfe is Liesl´s..." Gretl shouted from the bed.

"Sshhhh Gretl!" The other children protested. "Not so loud! If father hears you, we´ll all be in trouble!"

"Gretl, please. It's time for bed." Maria looked down at her youngest charge. She kissed her forehead, and shooed the rest of the family out of the younger girl's room. She then looked to Brigitta and Kurt for more answers. It was obvious to her that Louisa and Friedrich wouldn't be supplying many answers for her this evening about their eldest sister's whereabouts.

"Now who is going to tell me? Who is this Rolfe?"

"The telegram boy. He comes here often." Kurt chimed in.

"Yes, and sometimes there is really a telegram and it _is_ actually for father." Brigitta added.

"What?" Now Maria was very confused.

Louisa looked slyly at Maria.

"She means that Liesl is in the gazebo with the telegram deliverer. They are _in love_," she rolled her eyes when she said the last words.

"Hmmmm," hummed Maria. "Now, that is interesting!"

"_So there is indeed a gazebo_," was the first thing she thought, remembering what the bus driver had told her. Although she could not wait to have a look at it, the idea of the sixteen year old daughter of Captain von Trapp there, alone with a telegram deliverer, worried her. Following the Captain´s lopsided logic, if anything happened to the girl, it would be the governess fault, and Maria was only beginning to realize that perhaps those children needed her more than she needed them.

"Does your father know about it?"

"Are you joking? He would have Rolfe keelhauled and Liesl sent to a convent – no offense, Fräulein," said Friedrich.

"Oh - erhm - none taken!"

"You are not going to tell him, are you?" It was a question, a request and a veiled threat, all into one, coming from Louisa.

"No, I won´t unless I absolutely have to," Maria reassured them. She saw no reason at first to betray Liesl´s secret to the Captain. Yet, deep inside she was worried – it was the first indication that she was out of her depth. Being responsible for those children meant that she would have to guide them in the best possible way. How would she be able to say anything to a lovesick sixteen year old if she had had never been in love herself?

"I don't understand," Brigitta said, puzzled, as they made their way to her room. "Rolfe Gruber is such a _know-it-all_. No one can stand him. Louisa calls him a _know-it-some_. I don't agree."

"You don't?" asked Maria.

"I think he is a _know-it-nothing_. And still he has Liesl and her silly girl friends all swooning over him."

"He thinks he is king of Salzburg just because he wears a uniform," said Friedrich.

"Does he?" Maria asked.

"It is not even a real one, like father´s Navy uniforms. It´s a telegram deliverer´s uniform!"

"That is silly, I have to agree."

"And he has the black spider etched in his bicycle. I've seen it."

"The… black spider, Brigitta?" Maria inquired.

Friedrich offered her an explanation, lowering his voice. "It is how we call the Nazi flag, Fräulein." Then he turned to his sister. "You must not tell father, Brigitta, otherwise there will be trouble. You know how he feels about them. We don't need him any more mad than he already is because of politics."

Maria said goodnight to Louisa and Brigitta, who occupied adjoining rooms. Then she started following the boys, who were walking towards theirs.

"Fräulein, what are you going to do?" asked Friedrich, when he noticed her following them.

"The same thing I did with you sisters. Make sure you are all tucked in,"

The boys exchanged an annoyed glance.

"We are boys, Fräulein," said Kurt.

"Obviously!" She gestured for them to continue into their rooms.

"Yes. We do not need… _tucking_," added Friedrich, with a striking resemblance to his father's cold and stoic tone.

Maria shrugged, deciding that she had battled enough – at least for the moment. She wished the boys good night, saving their budding masculine pride for the moment, and made her way to her own room, in the opposite wing of the house.

"Come in," she said, Maria not bothering with the fact that she was already in her nightclothes. It was the housekeeper, carrying a small pile of bolts of fabric.

"Frau Schmidt?" Maria said, questioningly, at the same time rushing to relieve the elderly woman of her burden. "Here, let me help you. What is all this?"

"For your new dresses, Fraulein Maria. The Captain had these sent out from town."

"Oh, how lovely!" was her excited exclamation. "Oh, I'm sure these will make the prettiest clothes I've ever had."

"One of our upstairs maids, Frau Poppmeier is also a very accomplished seamstress. If you need any help, please feel free to ask her – I already told her you might do that. Sewing is her passion, and I am afraid she has only made sailor suits lately."

"Oh good, then she won´t mind working on something more… creative. Thank you, Frau Schmidt. I will certainly need Frau Poppmeier´s help for what I have in mind," she said, pensively.

"Yes? And what do you have in mind, Fräulein?" asked the housekeeper.

Maria answered her with another question. "Tell me, do you think the Captain would get me some more material if I asked him?"

The housekeeper was clearly taken aback.

"How many dresses does a governess need?"

Maria shook her head vehemently. "No, not for me. For the children. I want to make them some play clothes."

"Play clothes?" the woman asked, walking towards Maria's window.

"They just can't be children if they cannot get dirty. There should be a law about that somewhere," she added, mumbling.

"_The Von Trapp children don't play. They march_. That is the law here, at least. It has been for the past three years."

"Oh, surely, you don't approve of that?" Maria frowned. "They need to run outside in the sunshine, they need exercise, fresh air, and by that I do not mean just… _march around the grounds breathing deeply_," she quoted. "Or following this timesheet like if they were in active duty," she added, glancing at the handwritten pages splayed all over the tiny desk in her room.

"Yes, I know what you mean." Frau Schmidt stared at her, pensively. "Ever since the Captain lost his poor wife, he runs this house as if he were on one of his ships again. Whistles, orders. No more music, no more laughing. Nothing that reminds him of her... even the children."

"But it's so wrong! He is not driving the memories away; he is just making it more painful to remember!"

For a moment, the housekeeper looked like if she were very tempted to reveal something about the Captain´s past to Maria, but she simply shook her head and smiled.

"How do you like your room? There'll be new drapes at the windows."

"New drapes? But these are fine," she protested.

"Nevertheless, new ones have been ordered. Captain's orders."

"Oh, but I really don't need them. " Maria bit her lips, as an idea occurred to her. "Do you think if I ask the Captain tomorrow about the material...?"

"Save yourself the trouble. Fräulein. He's leaving for Vienna early in the morning. He will most likely be gone by the time you and the children will have your breakfast."

"Oh, yes, of course. Well, how long will he be gone? Maybe when he returns I will be able to take care of that."

"That all depends. The last time he visited Baroness Schraeder he stayed for a month," Frau Schmidt replied meaningfully.

"Oh, that long!"

"I shouldn't be saying this - not to you, I mean I don't know you that well. But you are different from your eleven predecessors and… oh well, I have said more than I should already. _I like you_!"

"Thank you!" exclaimed Maria, happily.

"If you ask me, the Captain's thinking very seriously of marrying the woman before the summer's over."

"Really?"

"You know, it might be too early to talk about it, but I think there is finally something happening. She is lovely lady, a real Grand Dame, so they say…"

"Oh, that would be wonderful! Well, the children will have a mother again!" was Maria's excited exclamation. "That should make everything right. No wonder the children were so curious about her at the dinner table."

Frau Schmidt looked straight at her. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Hmmm. Well, they say that the Captain is really making progress with the Baroness and we shall hear those wedding bells pealing very soon," the housekeeper said, lowering her voice, as if savoring a delicious piece of gossip. "Now that I think of it, it is a big gesture of trust in you if he would really go to Vienna now."

"Ehm… why?"

"It is very unlike him, to leave the children in charge of a new governess and leave immediately, especially one like you…" Maria's eyes widened. "No, I don't mean you are inadequate, quite the contrary, you handled those welcome pranks quite well. You´re just…"

"Yes?"

"Unconventional. _Peculiar_." Maria´s eyes widened at the woman´s choice of words. "I´ll be honest, Fräulein, better women than you have run long before the pine cone incident. That was an original one, by the way. Anyway, it just that… you are not like the others. Not at all. Certainly not what one would imagine for a governess in such an aristocratic household. Yet, he will leave you here in full charge…" Maria was about to ask the housekeeper about the other ladies, but the woman spoke again. "Well, I should probably retire now."

A sudden thought then occurred to Maria. "Just one more thing, Frau Schmidt, please. After that I won't take more of your time."

"Yes, Fräulein?" Frau Schmidt turned around to face Maria.

"Where can I find a nice vase?"

"A nice what?"

"A _vase_. And flowers, of course."

"Yes, I know, but it's such an unusual request for this time at night. What do you have in mind, Fräulein?"

"I was thinking that the children could send a gift to the Baroness," Maria explained. "And what could be better than a vase planted with some of our local flowers?"

"You are most definitely not like the others, Fräulein… There is a shed by the rose garden, where our gardener keeps his tools. I am quite sure you'll find all you need there. However, I must tell you – you won't find too many flowers around here. The garden is sadly neglected, I am afraid," Frau Schmidt gave her a meaningful look. "There is a small greenhouse next to the shed; my husband – who is a gardener, by the way – takes care of it. Maybe you´ll find something there too."

"I see. Well, I'll see if I find something. I am sure I will."

"Forgive me for asking, but when are you planning to do that? As I said, the Captain is leaving early tomorrow, there is no time."

"Frau Schmidt, the most valuable lesson I learned in the Abbey it is to make time whenever I need it!" she exclaimed proudly.

After all, she did have all night, didn't she?

_A/N: (1) Standard Navy watches are: First Watch - 2000 to 2400; Midwatch - 0000 to 0400; Morning watch - 0400 to 0800; Forenoon Watch - 0800 to 1200; Afternoon Watch 1200 to 1600; First Dogwatch 1600 to 1800; Second Dogwatch - 1800 to 2000 (Source – WWII Naval Dictionary – valoratsea website_


	21. Chapter 21

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 21**

_**Only during thunderstorms**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Since I was man,**_

_**Such sheets of fire, such bursts of torrid thunder  
>Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never<br>Remember to have heard."**_

_**William Shakespeare**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but it is lightning that does the work."**_

_**Mark Twain**_

_**ooo**_

It as a thunderstorm as all thunderstorms should be. Roaring thunder, furious bolts of lightning – the kind that most people feared, young or old.

Except for Maria, of course.

She never understood why, at the convent, most of the nuns were so frightened of them and at the first sight of a black cloud in the horizon and rushed to light a candle to Saint Barbara, the patron of fires, thunderstorms, sudden death and – the irony of all ironies – the _Navy._ Maria, on the other hand, always thought they were beautiful, almost poetic.

"_the entire world looks the same under the rain,_" she used to say. Although she loved the outdoors, to spend her time running in flowered meadows and climbing mountains, she was just as mystified by a rainy day. She loved the feeling of being cozy and protected indoors while the storm raged outside. And whenever she had the rare chance of being outside, she loved the sense of freedom when she felt the rain falling down her body.

"_Dear Lord, Maria, that sounds so… _pagan _of you_,_" _her friend Christina censored her, making a sign of the cross, when Maria told her about this. It was useless to say later that she hadn´t done such a thing as walking and playing in the rain since she was hardly more than a child – Christina was still scandalized.

Maria smiled at such memories.

She had said goodbye to her friends only that same morning, but now it seemed that they belong to a distant past. Certainly it was a world that had nothing in common with the world she was living in now. Naval officer or not, even if she tried, she could not imagine Captain von Trapp running around the house looking for a candle to light for Saint Barbara. Nor going to the other extreme of taking a walk just to feel the rain on his face.

"Well, that might be the only thing I have in common with him – we are not afraid of thunderstorms," she muttered – not that she would expect to have _anything_ in common with the aristocracy at all. Yet, she imagined that as a seafaring man, he had learned to face any kind of bad weather standing on his way.

Maria frowned – well, only literally, of course. Because if one considered the veritable storm caused by the loss of his beloved wife, he was doing a dismal job trying to get out of it!

"_Maria, you must be more sympathetic towards the poor man_," she censored herself. "_That is just what the Reverend Mother would advise you to do. Put yourself in his place. For instance, imagine what it is like for him to be around others who knew her closely or even people like you, who just heard about her, wondering if they would mention her name and what that would do to him. The Reverend Mother described him as a fine and a brave man, and there is no reason to doubt her words, no matter how mean he was to you before. He might be simply a naval hero who had no clue about how to navigate the waters of his own grief, at least not without hurting others in the process. It must be a terrifying feeling to a man known for his intelligence and for his bravery to feel so helpless. Yes, undoubtedly a wife, a new woman to love, would help him cope with the awful pain and bring him closer to his children again…_"

Shaking her head, she knelt at the bed. She had brooded enough about Captain von Trapp and his children already. Her body was tired, her _mind_ was tired of so much thinking, so much planning and reasoning. The next day she would have to wake up very early, before the sun rose, in order to accomplish something she had in mind. It would be wise if she simply rested now.

Joining her hands together and looking heavenward, Maria thought for a moment about what she would say in her prayers.

"Dear Father, now I know why You've sent me here. To help these children prepare themselves for a new mother and to help them to have the love of their father again… And I pray that this will become a happy family in Thy sight. God bless the Captain, God bless Liesl and Friedrich, God bless Louisa, Brigitta, Marta and little Gretl. And, oh, I forgot the other boy. What's his name? Well, God bless _What's-his-name_."

With the corner of her eyes, she saw the eldest girl, Liesl, entering the room though one of the windows. Maria pretended she had not seen her at first.

"_If this is another trick, I won´t be taken by surprise,_" she thought and continued her prayer.

"God bless the Reverend Mother, Sister Margaretta..."

No, it was not another prank, because the sneaky girl was trying to exit the room without being seen, even if she was soaked to the skin and leaving a trail of water behind her. Maria smiled secretively, knowing just what to do.

"...and everybody at Nonnberg Abbey. And now, dear God, about _Liesl_."

It worked. Liesl stopped cold at the door and turned to face her, her blue eyes wide, droplets of rain still running down her face.

"Help her to know that I'm her friend, and help her to tell me what she's been up to."

"Are you going to tell on me?" the girl asked, clearly frightened. There was nothing in her now that reminded Maria of the confident young woman who claimed that she did not need a governess.

"Sshhh, please, I am not done yet." Liesl just stood there, obediently, waiting to know her fate. Maria almost felt sorry for her. "Help me to be understanding so that I may guide her footsteps. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The girl began talking incessantly, trying to explain herself, as soon as Maria finished.

"I was out taking a walk and somebody locked the doors earlier than usual and I didn't want to wake everybody up. So, when I saw your window  
>open… You're not going to tell Father, are you?"<p>

"Mmm."

Actually, that was a _very_ good question. That is what Maria pondered, as she rose and walked to the window through which Liesl had entered. She did that not merely to close the window, but to give herself a little time to think about what she would say to the girl. But when she saw how high the window was, Maria gasped.

"How in the world did you climb up here?"

"That's how we always got into this room to play tricks on the governesses. Louisa can make it with a whole jar of spiders in her hand," she said gleefully.

Maria slammed the window shut.

"_Spiders_!"

She put a hand to her chest in disgust. Frogs, snakes, an occasional lizard she could handle just fine, but for some reason she was not very fond of those eight legged creatures called spiders.

It was then that she realized that she made two small mistakes. Her comment not only had changed the main topic of their conversation, it gave Liesl precious information about what kind of little critters she feared the most. Maria had little doubt that the children would put that valuable piece of news about their new governess´s worst fears to good use in a near future. Liesl could not disguise her relief about the change of topic, and had a curious little smile in her face – almost a perfect copy of her father´s smirk.

It was the sight of that knowing grin that did it. Maria responded to it with a frown, just as she was now used to do with the Captain. It was time for her to take control again.

"Liesl, were you out walking all by yourself?" she asked severely, hating that she sounded like a preaching old nun.

At first, the girl only nodded, but when Maria looked at her sternly, she began shaking her head from side to side.

"That is what I thought."

"Fräulein, please!"

Maria thought for a moment. Undeniably, telling the Captain was the most responsible thing to do under normal circumstances. Yes, under _normal_ circumstances perhaps. What would her father do in his current _disturbed_ mood? Send poor Liesl to a convent like Theresa´s father had done when she was her age? No, there simply _had _to be a better way to deal with the problem, even if it meant postponing it for a little while.

"You know, if we wash that dress out tonight, nobody would notice it tomorrow," she said. Liesl was rendered absolutely speechless – that was probably the last thing she would have expected from any of the governesses that his father had ever hired.

Walking past the puzzled sixteen year old, Maria reached for her only other nightgown hanging in the closet.

"Here. You could put this on." Still bewildered, Liesl took the nightgown from Maria´s hands and looked at it, as if paralyzed. "Yes, I know it is not pretty, but it will keep you warm. You can´t stay in those wet clothes, I am sure your father would not wish you to be sick, no matter what you were doing outside."

"I was not doing anything wrong."

"I know," Maria said. She had no wish to force Liesl to reveal anything she was not ready to tell her. She need to build the girl´s confidence in her first.

"I think it is ruined," Liesl said sorrowfully, looking down at her soiled clothes.

"No, it is not! Take your dress in there, put it to soak in the bathtub, then come back here and sit on the bed. We'll have a talk."

"All right." Liesl paused in the bathroom doorway. "Fräulein?"

"Yes?"

"I told you today I didn't need a governess. Well, maybe I do," she smiled gratefully.

Maria closed the bathroom door and walked over to  
>shut the door of her armoire. Yes, Liesl might be grateful to her now, for saving her from her father´s wrath, but what about tomorrow? Will she still trust her? Trust was such a fragile thing – it was something that she knew, even in her scant experience.<p>

But that will be a problem for tomorrow. Not tonight.

First things first…

Hands on her hips, Maria looked at the bed, then at the bathroom door.

"Jars of spiders indeed," she grumbled.

Frowning suspiciously, she reached for the comforter and flung it back, only to reveal clean, snake-less, spider-less white sheets.

"Mmmm."

Not quite satisfied yet, Maria checked the  
>rest of the bed. Nothing. Smiling in relief, she puts the comforter back in its place.<p>

"Well, at least I am safe for tonight," she said.

There was a loud thunder clap and a split second later, the door suddenly opened. The smallest von Trapp child, in a nightgown, run in and stood stiffly against the wall, her eyed wide and very frightened.

"Gretl? Are you scared?"

Gretl shook her head in vehement denial. There was another clap of thunder, this one louder and more spectacular. The five year old run into Maria's arms, burying her head into the fold of the governess´s nightgown.

"You're not frightened of a thunderstorm, are you? There is nothing wrong with that. You just stay right here with me." Maria tried to lift the girl, groaning as she realized that she was heavier than she expected.

"May I, really? I went to Liesl´s room, but she was not there and I was so afraid."

"Yes, of course, it´s quite all right. That is what I am here for. Where are the others?"

"They're asleep. They're not scared."

More thunder roared, and Gretl hugged Maria tightly. Maria´s motherly instincts awakened with unexpected force, and she cuddled the trembling little girl, protectively. There was a sound coming from the door. Gretl. Louisa, Brigitta and Marta run into the room.

"Oh, no? Look."

Gretl turned her face towards the door and her face instantly lit up when she saw the other girls standing there, wide eyed.

"You can´t find Liesl too!" the little one exclaimed. The three girls nodded.

"All right, everybody. Up here on the bed."

They hesitated, only briefly.

"Really? Can we?" asked Brigitta, uncertainly. "Liesl never let us do that!"

"What does she do?"

"She just sends us back to our rooms, but sometimes she stays with us until the storm is over."

"Well, just this once. Come on," she said, nodding towards her bed. The girls crowd onto the bed without waiting for a second invitation.

Actually, she was almost as uncertain as they were. The Captain certainly would not appreciate it if his daughters played in the governess room after hours. There was, however, a meaningful attenuating circumstance – the thunderstorm. Who else would the children run to in fear? Certainly not to the privacy of _his_ bedroom. Poor little dears – she could not help but wonder what they did under such circumstances without a mother, or without as much as a friendly governess to rely on. Yes, they had Liesl, but it was also such a heavy burden for a sixteen year old to carry. She was a little more than a child herself and already had to act like a mother when her younger siblings needed her.

It was not fair.

It did not matter if they wake up the following morning already planning new pranks – they trusted her now, and it was a precious gift. Maria could not have hoped for anything better, after such a terrible beginning.

"Now, all we have to do is wait for the boys," she said.

"You won't see them. Boys are brave." It was an unexpected statement, coming from Louisa, probably the bravest of them all.

Maria looked at her, skeptically.

"Oh, are they? I gather that they never went to Liesl´s room during a thunderstorm."

"They did, but only to see if we were all right."

"Oh, I see…" Maria rolled her eyes.

The thunder continued, the girls buried their heads in the bed as each loud roar sounded. She knew it was only a matter of time until the boys joined them, so she kept staring at the door while the frightening girls seemed to bury themselves deeper in her comforter. She did not have to wait long. The two boys barged into the room, their white faces a clear indication that they were just as frightened as the girls. When they saw their grinning governess watching them from the bed, surrounded by four of their sisters, they immediately tried to change their demeanor, forcing themselves to walk calmly. Maria´s smile broadened.

"Ehrm - you boys weren't scared, too, were you?" she asked, with just a dash of irony.

"Oh, no. We just wanted to be sure that you weren't."

"Oh yes," she giggled. "In this case I assume that you must be looking for Liesl too."

"Where is she?"

Maria ignored the question.

"You were making sure your little sisters were all right. That's very thoughtful of you, Friedrich."

"It wasn't my idea. It was Kurt's."

"Kurt! That's the one I left out." She then raised her eyes heavenward. "God bless Kurt."

Another huge thunder clap - everyone ducks, including the boys. Maria looks at them all with amusement.

"Oh dear, what am I going to do with you!"

"I wonder where Liesl is and what she is up to at this hour," said Friedrich, sounding concerned. "If father knows she is not in the house…"

"Oh, but she is in the house!" Maria reassured them quickly. "In fact, she will join us very shortly." Friedrich crossed his arms and eyed her challengingly. "I just spoke to her. You don´t believe me, do you?"

"No," he said simply.

"_Friedrich, Friedrich, sometimes you are too much like your father for your own good,"_ she thought.

"Where is she anyway?" asked Louisa.

"Oh dear," Maria muttered, biting a nail. "Well…"

A faint noise came from the bathroom, but the children were so distressed that she doubted that they even noticed it. It was when she knew what to say.

"_Isn´t it just perfect when the best and the right thing to say is simply… the truth!" _she mused.

She cleared her throat.

"You see, Friedrich, this is a delicate issue. You are a young man yourself, you should understand that there are certain things a lady doesn´t like to… to speak about."

"She was out there with the telegram deliverer, wasn´t she? She…"

"Liesl is _in the bathroom_," Maria interrupted him, in a hissed, but very dramatic voice. "Now I do hope you are not going to make me say _exactly_ what she is doing in there, are you? It would not be very gentlemanly of you at all."

Friedrich blushed, while all other children giggled. Their mirth lasted until the next bolt of thunder and lightning.

"Why does it do that?" Marta asked, nearly weeping.

"Well, the lightning says something to the thunder, and the thunder answers back," she replied, thinking it would be a suitable answer to give a seven year old. Maria was sure that the girl would not be looking for a scientific explanation!

"The lightning must be nasty," Marta moaned.

"Not really."

"Then why does the thunder get so angry? It makes me want to cry."

"They are not nasty or angry, Marta, they are merely very _loud,_ their bark is much worse than their bite. You are all quite safe here, you have nothing to worry about."

"Mother used to say that all the noise was because of Saint Peter moving furniture around in heaven," remembered Brigitta with a sad smile.

There was more thunder, and the children cowered again.

"Well, now, whatever it is, when anything bothers me and I'm feeling unhappy, I just try and think of nice things."

"What kind of things?"

"Uh... well, let me see… Nice things. Daffodils. Green meadows. Skies full of stars. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens..."

"Does it really work?" Marta asked, hopefully.

"Of course it does. You try it. What things do you like?"

They hardly noticed when Liesl emerged from the bathroom. She immediately joined their game. The naming of the von Trapp children´s favorite things soon became a lively pillow fight, with several of them jumping up and down the bed.

"See what fun it is?" Maria exclaimed.

And then, she remembered the song…


	22. Chapter 22

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 22**

_**Favorite things**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." **_

_**From a headstone in Ireland**_

_**ooo**_

"_**I wandered lonely as a cloud  
>That floats on high o'er vales and hills,<br>When all at once I saw a crowd,  
>A host, of golden daffodils;<br>Beside the lake, beneath the trees,  
>Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.<strong>_

_**Continuous as the stars that shine**_  
><em><strong>And twinkle on the milky way,<strong>_  
><em><strong>They stretched in never-ending line<strong>_  
><em><strong>Along the margin of a bay:<strong>_  
><em><strong>Ten thousand saw I at a glance,<strong>_  
><em><strong>Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.<strong>_

_**The waves beside them danced; but they**_  
><em><strong>Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:<strong>_  
><em><strong>A poet could not but be gay,<strong>_  
><em><strong>In such a jocund company:<strong>_  
><em><strong>I gazed-and gazed-but little thought<strong>_  
><em><strong>What wealth the show to me had brought:<strong>_

_**For oft, when on my couch I lie**_  
><em><strong>In vacant or in pensive mood,<strong>_  
><em><strong>They flash upon that inward eye<strong>_  
><em><strong>Which is the bliss of solitude;<strong>_  
><em><strong>And then my heart with pleasure fills,<strong>_  
><em><strong>And dances with the daffodils."<strong>_

_**William Wordsworth**_

_**ooo**_

"_**When the dog bites  
>When the bee stings<br>When I'm feeling sad  
>I simply remember my favorite things<br>And then I don't feel so bad."**_

_**Rodgers & Hammerstein, "My Favorite Things"**_

_**ooo**_

The thunderstorm had turned to a light, but persistent, rainfall the following day as the Captain walked to his automobile. In spite of the bad weather, he had planned to drive to Vienna himself, just as he usually did. Driving, just like riding, was one of the few pleasures life had not deprived him of.

In days like this, he could almost hear Agathe´s voice again…

"_And they still say that Austria no longer needs a Navy because we no longer have an ocean. With all this rain that we have all year round, there may come the day when you'll need one of your submarines, and not your car, to go to Vienna, my darling Georg_!"

"Thank you, Franz," he said, automatically silencing the memory of her voice, taking the car keys that were being handled to him by the butler.

"Shall I call Herr Detweiler and let him know you have already left, Captain?"

Georg´s lips thinned.

"No, that is not necessary, thank you" he replied, and unavoidably visualized the scene of his friend Max being woken up in that ungodly hour by a phone call from Aigen just to inform him that the Captain's ship had left port. Franz bowed and motioned to leave.

"And Franz," he interrupted him.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Uhm… Do keep an eye on things around here, will you please?"

"Certainly, Captain. Anything or anyone in particular you wish me to – uh – _keep an eye on_?"

"_Anyone? Does he need to ask? _Everyone_ – most specially Liesl and her dealings with the telegram deliverer. Not to mention that… governess, for lack of a more proper term,_" he wanted to scream.

He was still trying to come to terms with the little Fräulein´s appalling behavior the previous day. Her actions had left him so dazzled that now, scarcely ten hours later, he remembered the events as if in some kind of dream with a plot so mad that he was not quite able to make sense of it.

He recalled being in back his study after dinner, pondering again about unlikely issues such as the symbolic meaning of pine cones and Greek mythology, when the noise upstairs had awakened him from his trance. Laughter, screaming, shouting… sounds that had not been heard in that household for more than three years, at first because the children were in mourning, although, more recently, because he had forbid it.

His fists clenched, he had walked towards the obvious source of what obviously constituted a mutiny – the Fräulein´s room. The simple action was something that he would never considered doing, something that he had never done with any of the previous women he hired. Going to a governess's room was unthinkable, not only because of the obvious impropriety of it, but because it was also an inexcusable intrusion upon his employee's privacy.

"_Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes  
>Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes<br>Silver white winters that melt into springs  
>These are a few of my favorite things…"<em> (2)

"Fräulein," he hissed, his teeth clenched, when he found himself just outside the door to her bedroom. He could hear them inside – his children's laughter, and a crystal clear soprano voice which could only belong to the little postulant, singing about _raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens_ and other absurdities. His anger had blinded him - and not for the first time that day – and he had forgotten the fact that, no matter what, etiquette demanded him to knock first. He had simply flung the door open and barged into the room, his body barely containing his fury.

Wearing a tent of a flannel nightgown, she had been waltzing around her bedroom with half of his children, while the other half had been… jumping up and down her bed.

"_When the dog bi…_"

The singing and dancing had abruptly stopped as the governess suddenly ran squarely into him. She had been so close to actually crashing into him with full force, and it had probably been her own quick reflexes that had made her jump back at the last possible moment. She gave a few steps back, ending the song with a few incoherent moans. As for the children, they had immediately line up at attention, in the usual order of age.

"Uh, hallo!" she had said, apparently fully recovered after only a few breaths. Again, she had flashed him one of her _wholesome_, utterly disconcerting smiles, as nothing was amiss, the skies were absolutely clear and the ship was sailing smoothly.

However, he did not find the situation, at all, amusing, and her smile only had the effect of flaring his temper, making his frown even more menacing.

"Fräulein, did I not tell you that bedtime is to be strictly observed in this house?" he asked, his eyes quickly scanning the line of children.

Hastily, she had started to defend herself, the annoying smile replaced by an expression of obvious concern.

"But it was such an ugly thunderstorm, Captain."

"My rules apply to any kind of weather conditions, Fräulein. No exceptions are admitted. If not you, then certainly my children should be fully aware of the fact," he had said, directing his anger to the children again, to make certain that they knew that not only their governess had been at fault.

"Well, nonetheless the children were upset by the storm, so I thought that if I..." Her voice had died when he had fired one of his best fiery scowls at her.

"Didn't I just tell you?" he insisted.

"You did, sir."

"And do you or do you not have difficulty remembering such simple instructions?" he had asked, in the same tone he had always used with his subordinates when they were at fault.

"Simple?" At first she sounded almost like she was speechless. "It was _twenty-five_ handwritten pages. Front _and_ back, and honestly, sir, half of it I could not understand," she had replied, indignant. His silence encouraged her to continue her outburst. "I am a mountain girl, Captain Reverend; I have never even been on a boat. I can't tell portside from starboard, and I have no idea what _skylarking_ means."

"Then allow me to clarify it to you. _Port_ is left, _starboard_ is right and _skylarking_ is precisely what you are doing now – messing around and not doing your assigned work."

"Oh, but I was only trying to…" she began to protest.

"_Now_, do you or do you not understand your instructions, Fräulein," he had insisted.

She had conceded him defeat, but only too briefly.

"Only during thunderstorms, sir."

There it was again, that mock defiance, the disingenuous challenge on her face. And something else too – disapproval. He hated the fact that she had been trying to use with him the same tactics she had employed with the children during dinner.

"_It won't work, Fräulein,_" he wanted to yell at her, but instead, he held her gaze, vowing to keep doing so until she lowered her eyes in defeat.

It never happened. She never backed down, she did not even flinch. The sound of Kurt's laughter had attracted him to the line of children again, so it was him who had to look away from her. His anger, however, had not been directed to his laughing young son, but to his eldest daughter, who obviously believed she could run off to the gazebo with that arrogant little prick Rolfe Grüber without him finding out about it. Worse – she believed that she could do all that and remain unscathed.

There were too many things about the situation that disturbed him. The fact that the boy was a commoner was not what bothered him – it was the fact that he came from a family of well-known sympathizers of Adolf Hitler. Politics aside, he was not blind to the fact that Liesl was at a critical age, in which the presence of a mother was essential to guide her. In the absence of a mother, he would eventually have to deal with it himself. There was this new governess, of course, but he honestly doubted that the little Fräulein had any experience in the matter whatsoever – it was the plain truth written all over her face.

"Liesl?"

"Yes, father?" His daughter had obviously been up to something, it was unmistakable. Her hair was messy and soaking wet and her nightgown… it was almost a replica of the same sack the governess wore, and he wondered where it came from. Certainly Agathe had never allowed such a thing to be a part of her children's wardrobe. Frau Poppmeier, who had been in charge of the children's clothes since she died, had been blessed with an adequate, although antiquated, good taste. Yet, not even the seamstress would allow Elisabeth von Trapp to wear something so… dowdy.

"I don't recall seeing you anywhere after dinner," he had snapped.

"Oh, really? Well, as a matter of fact…" Liesl had frantically tried to think of a convenient answer.

"Yes?"

"Well, I - I was, I was..."

Fräulein Maria had been his daughter's savior, in the end.

"Uhm… What she would like to say, Captain, is that, uh, she and I have been getting better acquainted tonight. But it's much too late now to go into all that."

It had been the second time since her arrival that he had witnessed her standing up for his children – even if she had been the victim of an endless series of bad practical jokes. It had been that fierce loyalty to a bunch of seven unruly children that had kept him from firing her on the spot after the last transgression. It was what had him convinced that an alternative approach with the children should be tried, since the traditional means had not worked so far.

"Come along children, you heard your father. Go back to bed immediately. Ehm – uhm – _abandon ship_, all of you!"

The response to her order had been so immediate that he felt nearly envious at her efficiency – although he could not be sure if it the children were doing it in order to obey her or to run from him and his clearly dangerous mood. It was only as the children ran out the room, that Fräulein Maria became conscious of her state of undress. There had been a flush in her cheeks, as she picked up her robe and held it firmly against her. It had been a completely innocent gesture of her part, but one which attracted his full attention to her figure, and his body began to react in the same way it had when she had fallen from that tree, a reaction which he immediately repressed.

"Fräulein, you have managed to remember that I'm leaving in the morning?" he asked, ignoring her distress and his own reactions.

"Vienna. Yes, Captain, I remember," she had replied, apparently unaware of the direction his thoughts were taking.

"Is it also possible that you remember that the first rule in this house is discipline?"

His answer had been a somewhat reluctant nod. This time there was something else in her eyes – annoyance. He had been talking to her as if she was a slow child, and she deeply resented it. He smiled inwardly, satisfied. On the outside, however, he still glared ominously at her.

"Then I trust that before I return you will have acquired some, and you will at least be able to _control yourself_?"

Having said that, he just wanted to leave her room quickly – he was, after all, a widower, and there he was, alone with the governess in her room. A highly compromising situation. Fräulein Maria was a young, innocent looking, undoubtedly virginal governess, who was going to be a nun before the end of the year. Had anyone seen them, it would be enough to have the tongues of all the gossipers from Salzburg to Vienna flapping with uncontrolled fury. It was something he did not want or need, now that he was seriously considering marriage again.

"Captain? Uh - I wonder if, before you go, I could talk to you about some clothes for the children…"

"Fräulein Maria ..." looking heavenward, he had tried to interrupt her flow of words that had ended in such a ludicrous request.

"... for when they play. If I could just have some material..."

"You are obviously many things, not the least of which is _repetitious_."

"But they're children!" She had sounded angry now, and was making no attempt to hide it from him.

"Yes. And I am their father. Good night." With that, he had shut the door on her dismayed face, before she had been able to say anything else.

"_Anything or anyone in particular you wish me to – uh –_ _keep an eye on_?" After a long moment of silence, Franz insisted. "Captain?"

"I'm sorry. The usual, Franz, the usual," he replied curtly. "I expect daily reports from either you or Frau Schmidt until I return."

"Very well, sir."

He was about to enter his car, when he heard a female voice calling him, the sound partly muffled by the rain that was, once more, falling heavily.

"Captain, please wait!"

His first instinct was to ignore the voice, believing he had heard things. It had been years since he had heard a woman's voice calling from him in that house. Even then, she had never called him _Captain_. The only other female who could call out loudly to him like that would be Liesl, but he doubted that his daughter, of all people, would dare to shout like that after him.

The next sound he heard was impossible to be ignored – a boatswain whistle.

"Erh... Sir," Franz warned him, as he was, again, about to enter the car. Both men turned around.

The unlikely image of the black sheep of Nonnberg greeted him from the door to the house. This time though, she looked the part. She was dressed in her postulant's dress and atop her head was a wimple. She also looked absolutely wretched in the outfit.

"_After last night, she still has the audacity to blow that whistle at me_," he fumed.

When he made no motion to walk towards her, she opened an umbrella – a hideous purple thing which had been discarded by a previous governess. As she did that, she became the innocent victim of another prank – this one not addressed to her. She was showered by a cascade of dead leaves which the children had probably stuffed inside in order to victimize its owner. The leaves clung to her ruffled wimple and to her habit, but she did not seem to mind at all, as she ran towards him, under the falling rain.

"She is going to break her blasted neck," he said between clenched teeth, as he noticed that the purple umbrella was not the only thing she was carrying in her hands.

"Did you say something, Captain?"

"Nothing, Franz. Nothing. I was just wondering what my governess is up to now."

In her left hand, she precariously held what looked like… he squinted – yes, it was a vase, with something planted in it. Something white and delicate that, even from a distance, was enough to bring to his mind the bittersweet words of a song long forgotten.

"Captain, if I may…" she said breathlessly, when she was finally a few steps away from the car.

"Fräulein, you do choose your moments," he said impatiently. He barked the next words. "You certainly may not!"

"Oh, I know – you are mad because I blew the whistle again," she sighed. "You shouldn´t! I changed my mind. I happen to agree with you now, Captain, it _is_ a very good idea. I can´t run any faster than my legs can carry me, this is a large house and if I am supposed to have all seven of them ready on time. Now, if only you would do the same and change your mind about the play clothes we would…"

"Fräulein!"

"Yes, Captain?" she blinked.

"I am glad we are in agreement about the whistle. I only wish – no, I _demand _that you apply yourself with the same efficiency in making my children behave the way they are supposed to, because last night you were absolutely dismal at it." His quick flow of words was enough to intimidate her for a few seconds, and he took full advantage of the fact.

"_What_ is that?" He asked, without really looking at the vase of flowers she held in her hands.

"I am surprised you do not recognize one of Austria's most beloved flowers, Captain!" she exclaimed, her tone slightly censorial.

"Edelweiss_,_" he whispered (3). "_How on earth did she get it? Where did she get it?"_ He wondered. She did have the look of someone who hadn't had much sleep. "_Had the silly twit spent half the night hunting for flowers to plant in an old vase?"_

Naturally, he did not dare asking her any of that. It wasn't his business, anyway, what his employee did with their free time, even in the middle of the night.

To his surprise, she laughed, the pearly sound muffled by the rain.

"I brought them from the convent with me_,_ Captain. I picked them the last I was up in the Untersberg a week ago."

His gaze finally fell on the flowers.

"I _know_ what that is, but what do you intend to do with it, and what do _I_ have to do with it?"

"It is for Baroness Schraeder. I thought about daffodils at first."

"_Daffodils!_" he nearly shouted incredulous, the memory of his musings just before dinnertime hitting him with full force.

"Yes, they are one of my favorite flowers and they mean _regard _in the language of flowers – and I thought it would be highly appropriate."

His lips thinned and he had to fight the urge not to grant her his most devilish smile, just before adding a one thing or two about the symbolism of her favorite flower that this convent bred mountain girl might not be aware of. But she kept blabbering her endless tale about daffodils, lilies, roses, daisies, pansies, poppies, violets, lilacs, irises and all sorts of absurd flowers without ever stop to catch her breath. Thinking that if he said anything it would only need to more incessant prattle. He certainly had no wish to start a debate about gardening and the symbolism of flowers with his _governess_ at this ungodly hour, under heavy rain when all he wanted to do was to flee to Vienna. Instead of a wicked smile, he gave her his wickedest, most threatening scowl as he waited for her to finish.

"I couldn´t find any of those in the garden or in your greenhouse, but then I remembered my Edelweiss and I thought… I thought…"

His glare was meant to discourage any further babbling of her part. _Language of flowers _indeed – what an infuriating female! _Regard?_ It was more like the flower of death to him. It was incongruous that it was a favorite of the boisterous tomboy standing before him under a purple umbrella. Definitely _not_ a good omen, certainly no something that the innocent looking, though utterly exasperating governess would possibly have in mind.

The rain was falling hard above their heads, his feet were already getting damp, in spite of the boots he was wearing. Still, she did not seem to be bothered by it.

"Please tell her it's from the children," she explained.

"A complete waste of time, I'm afraid. She won't believe me," he stated, coldly.

"Why not?"

"Because there is nothing you can say that will convince me that this was the children's idea."

"They told me she has sent them presents. Please, Captain, just tell her…"

"Fräulein, didn't I say that there were some matters in this house which you are not supposed to meddle with?"

"You did, yet I do feel that I must…"

"I don´t care what you must or must not do, Fräulein. What matters is that _I_ must to be in Vienna before nightfall, and not even _you_ or the entire Nonnberg Abbey can keep that from happening. Now, if you'll excuse me," he finished, briskly.

He entered the car, banging the door behind him.

However, Fräulein Maria would haunt him until he reached Vienna and other thoughts began to occupy his mind – thoughts of Elsa and the very serious and long talk he planned to have with her as soon as they had some privacy. The last image he saw in the rear mirror of his Horch was of a girl, standing in the pouring rain, with a ludicrous purple umbrella in one hand, a vase of daffodils in the other, and a sorrowful look in her eyes.

Oddly enough, it was that small figure of a novice – and not Agathe – that would trouble his dreams at night.

_A/N: (1) See my story "The Baroness and the pine cone". (2) Rodgers & Hammerstein, My Favorite Things. (3) "__**Edelweiss**__ (Leontopodium alpinum), one of the best-known European mountain flowers, belongs to the sunflower family (Asteraceae). The name comes from German edel (meaning noble) and weiß (meaning white). The scientific name, Leontopodium means "lion's paw", being derived from Greek words leon (lion) and podion (diminutive of pous, foot). (…) The flowers are in bloom between July and September. It is unequally distributed and prefers rocky limestone places at 2000–2900 m altitude (…) Edelweiss is a protected plant in many countries, including Bulgaria, Croatia, Switzerland, France, Italy, Germany, Spain (Ordesa National Park), Slovakia (Tatra National Park), Slovenia (in Gorizia and Gradisca since 1896, in Carniola since 1898), Austria (since 1886) and Romania (since 1933). It usually grows in inaccessible places, which is why it is associated in many countries of the alpine region with mountaineering. Its white colour is considered in Switzerland a symbol of purity and due to its beauty, it obtained its Romanian name, floarea reginei (Queen's flower)." __(Source – Wikipedia)._


	23. Chapter 23

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 23**

_**Femmes fatales and damsels in distress**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Let me not to the marriage of true minds**_

_**Admit impediments. Love is not love**_

_**Which alters when it alteration finds**_

_**Or bends with the remover to remove:**_

_**O no! it is an ever-fixed mark.**_

_**That looks on tempests and is never shaken;**_

_**It is the star to every wand´ring hark.**_

_**Whose worth´s unknown, although his height be taken.**_

_**Love´s not Time´s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks**_

_**Within his bending sickle´s compass come;**_

_**Love alters not with his brief hours or weeks,**_

_**But bears it out even to the edge of doom:-**_

_** If this be error and upon me proved,**_

_** I never writ, nor no man has ever loved."**_

_**William Shakespeare**_

_**ooo**_

_Vienna – A few days days later…_

"You´ve found it!" the unmistakable sound of Elsa´s cultured voice spoke from somewhere behind him. "I knew you would be drawn to it, somehow," she hooked her arm in his, and joined him in the appreciation of the painting before them.

Georg turned and smiled at her.

"I did not know you collected art, Elsa."

"And I don´t! Dear old Rufus, it is his entire fault. He was the art collector. _Art Noveau_ and symbolist painters – those were his preferences, but please do not ask me anything about them. I am afraid I wouldn´t be able tell one of these modern paintings from one of your little children´s doodles," she continued.

"O-ho, I don´t think this one would qualify as a _doodle_, my darling!" He gazed at the artwork again.

The painting that now hang in the drawing room of Elsa´s lavish Vienna house was a lesser known, earlier work of the celebrated Austrian artist, Gustav Klimt. It held a certain mysterious appeal to Georg. Dark and disturbingly erotic, it depicted an embraced couple – a much taller, dark haired man about to kiss a much smaller and innocent looking female wearing a white gown (1).

Elsa studied the painting, quizzically. It was as if she was trying to decide whether she loved or hated it.

"It was one of his favorites. I never quite understood why."

"I think I do. It is undoubtedly not one of Klimt´s masterpieces, but it has its charm," he replied casually, patting her hand. "_Things forbidden had a secret charm,_" he quoted, not quite sure why that particular phrase came to his mind. "I believe that is how Tacitus said it."

"Who?" she asked, distractedly.

"Publius Cornelius Tacitus, a Roman senator who…" he began, but her eyes were still glued to the painting. "I am sorry, darling, I am being a bore. You promised you would stop me when that happened," he teased.

"Never mind, Georg. Now that I think of it… it does have a secret charm about it, indeed. It is funny, this has been here for ages, and I never realized it before," she cast him a mischievous glance, and pointed a long finger to the man in the painting. "Well, forbidden, forbidding, maybe both. In any case, he reminds me of you!"

Georg raised his eyebrows.

"Really? Does that mean that you are imagining yourself in the place of that damsel in distress over there?" he asked, cocking his head towards the painting.

"A _damsel in distress_? Poor little me?" She let out a pearly laughter. "Certainly not, darling! Although Rufus did use to say that I reminded him of the women in Klimt's paintings - strong and confident… yes, sensual too, that goes without saying."

"Oh yes – the _femme fatale_."

She laughed. "No, I would not go that far, Georg, although I am known for having broken a few hearts in my old days… although not as many as you have, _Captain_," she nudged him, and he chuckled.

He looked at the woman by his side, a bit critically. No, she was no _femme fatale_, although she was right – not only Max, but most of Viennese society would disagree with him. To those who did not know her, Baroness Schraeder was a snob, and even a bit shallow. Few people, closer to her, knew that appearances could be deceiving, at least in her case. She was a highly intelligent, cultured woman, who had her share of pain and suffering in the past, just like he had. A woman who knew very well how to use her classic beauty to get what she wanted, but only as a last resource.

Right now, what she wanted was _him_ – she made no secret of that, not to him, not to anyone. That being the case, she also knew very well that her beauty alone would not be enough.

That evening, she wore a stunning red evening gown, since they were going to the Opera later. She did favor that particular color, and not without reason. It suited her perfectly, her looks and personality. In fact, Elsa von Schraeder was probably the only ice blond woman who could wear red without appearing vulgar – quite the contrary. Elsa always liked bold colors, even as a debutante. He remembered one of the first times he saw her, at the ball that had followed the SMU-6 christening in Fiume. He remembered Agathe, in an ethereal cloud of aquamarine silk, and Elsa next to her, gorgeous, but absolutely miserable in a peach colored gown. He remembered Agathe´s pearly laughter when Elsa said that she could not wait to get married so that she could wear any color she wanted and not only dull pastels.

Would he have noticed her, and not Agathe, had she been wearing scarlet that evening?

He doubted it, but he would not be a hot blooded man if he did not acknowledge the fact that he _was_ noticing her now.

"_After all, there is a reason why nun´s habits are not red,_" he thought, and the image of the new governess in her black postulant´s attire came to his mind again. No, no scarlet for her. Never. "_Red is Cupid and the devil,"_ he had heard somewhere, a color that conjured conflicting emotions, from passionate love to equally passionate hate. "_But she would look perfect in blue… sky blue. Ocean blue…" _A color that evoked wide open spaces, freshness, purity…

He shook his head and had to hold himself back in order not to curse loudly. One moment he was thinking about how alluring his future bride looked in red, and in the next he was trying to envision the children's governess in blue and thinking that she would look equally alluring in a color that would unquestionably be the right one for her personality. That was simply… unacceptable.

He decided to give his full attention to the lady next to him once more.

"You are _never_ modest, Elsa, and that is one of the things I admire about you!" he spoke, in order to banish his disturbing thoughts, bringing them back to Vienna, where they belonged for the moment.

"She is no _femme fatale,_ is she?" Her eyes narrowed a little bit, as she threw another critical look at the painting.

"Who?" he asked, distracted, his thoughts not exactly in the damsel in distress. No, the little Fräulein was surely not that, although she had a strange appeal…

"The woman in the painting, Captain! Darling, what is it? You were far away again just now, I know you were. I leave you alone with your thoughts for merely a second, and you start brooding again."

"I´m sorry, Elsa," he apologized, squeezing her hand. "You have my full and complete attention now."

"I hope so! You almost made me jealous of the girl in the painting! Don´t worry, that would never happen, I would never envy her. She looks so virginal – I don´t think I ever had that air about me even when I was one! It is why he kept it here, you know – he knew I would be jealous of the others, but never of this poor girl about to face a fate worse than death," she added, dramatically. "I wonder why she is so different from the rest of Klimt´s women…"

"I´m sorry, I can´t help you with that, Elsa. I am no _connoisseur_."

"Now, it is your turn not be modest darling – you are a true _renaissance man_, I have always known that (2)." He smirked, and she continued, returning her gaze to the painting. "I am considering donating it to a Museum, where it could be fully appreciated, instead of gathering dust and cobwebs here in this little room. What do you think?"

"I think it would be a fine addition to any Museum in Vienna. Any Museum in Europe in fact," he replied simply. "However, you should keep it in Austria."

"I will do that, if it makes you happy. Tell me - what do you like about it? You seemed… oddly fascinated a while ago."

"It reminds me of some…" He was about to say _someone,_ but his quick wit allowed him to corrected himself in time. "It reminds me of something. How well you know your Shakespeare?" he asked in return, after searching his brain, and effectively finding, something else other than his governess that the image could remind him of.

"Not as much as you do, I´m afraid."

He quoted a few lines of a well know poem.

"´_Love alters not with his brief hours or weeks,/ But bears it out even to the edge of doom…´_ Art scholars may disagree with me, but I like to believe that was what he was thinking about when he painted that."

"It is… rather dark, don´t you think?"

"What? The sonnet or the painting?"

"Both! The painting mostly – apart from the maiden in distress, that is what I dislike about it the most. It paints a rather frightening picture of love." She shrugged. "Oh dear, I only hope I am sophisticated enough to avoid being condemned to such fate!"

"Like in most works of art, one sees what he or she wants to see, my darling Elsa. I think even your dear Rufus would not disagree with me on that one."

"What do you see, Georg?"

"A love that knows about pain and loss…"

However, it seemed that Elsa was no longer listening to him. She had turned to the door. Max Detweiler was there – he had heard the Captain´s last words and had stopped cold.

"For pity´s sake, Georg! Good grief! Pain and loss? When you are going to learn that in Vienna such gloomy matters are never discussed. At least in Elsa´s house, isn´t that true, my dear?" he said, smiling at the Baroness.

"Certainly, Max. Unless, of course, one has a bottle of the most exquisite champagne nearby, which I believe is our case."

"She always had a talent for reading my mind," Max said to Georg. Then to Elsa again. "Where is it, my dear?"

"Right there, waiting for you," she said, indicating a small table with a bottle of Don Perignon on ice, and three glasses. "By the way, Max, you are late! Georg and I were alone here for ten minutes, completely unchaperoned. Enough to start another scandal."

"Ten minutes, darling? Vienna certainly underestimates me," Georg purred, not able to resist the temptation of teasing her. It certainly had the desired effect – Elsa looked up at him, her eyes gleaming.

"Well, well! What Vienna does not know, Georg, is that ten minutes with you are worth a whole night with Casanova."

"If Vienna does not know, how the devil do _you_ know that?" he asked, in the same tone with a quick cautionary glance to Max.

"I have my sources," she winked at him. "I could supply you with a list, you know – a very _long_ list. Just to refresh your memory."

"Is there a list?"

"Oh, Georg," she laughed. "_Somebody_ has to keep track of your past amorous pursuits if you do not! I am the woman, remember, I need to know where my competition is at all times!"

"I never thought you were the jealous type, darling."

"I am not, darling. Besides, it is _them_ I have to worry about, not you. I´m just too clever for my own good about certain things," she finished, immodestly. "I can´t help it!"

He was about to ask her what exactly her sources were when Max – who had been completely forgotten by them – opened the bottle of champagne quite noisily.

"My, my… has the Captain been misbehaving again?" Max asked.

"Oh Max, I wish!" Elsa said, stifling a giggle by taking a sip of the glass of champagne that he had just handled her. "We were talking about Klimt, Roman senators, Shakespeare and virgins in distress."

"What an unusual combination!"

"I am an unusual man, Max," Georg finally spoke again, sitting on the couch, next to Elsa, stretching his long legs before him.

"Speaking of unusual, when in Salzburg, you should take Elsa to meet Drascher, of course. And that mad wife of his (3). I am not sure about Klimt, Roman Emperors or Shakespeare, but he would have a lot to say about distressed damsels. The pirate!"

"Don´t ever call him Drascher or he will twist your neck. He is _Hans Schneider_ now, as quaint as it may sound to you. But don´t worry, I think I will spare you of that particular fate, darling," Georg said, giving her shoulders a light squeeze.

"But Georg, you promised to introduce me to _all_ your friends in Salzburg."

He shook his head.

"Elsa, Erik Drascher is…"

"A rascal," Max intervened. "During the 40… no, make that 42 days I served in that U-boat, the best advice on how to stay alive was given to me by that scoundrel. He said "_Max, it is all very simple. You just count the number of times we dive. Then you count the number of times we go back to the surface. Add both and if you don´t get an even number, don´t open the hatch_!"

The Captain smiled at the memory.

"Yes, and up to this day, this summarizes the full extent of Max Detweiler´s knowledge about submarines," was his biting comment.

"It also explains why I am perfectly happy working on dry land exploring… I mean, discovering young talents. How is Erik – I mean, _Hans_ nowadays, by the way?" asked Max.

"Happily and settled, I suppose. He owns the most disreputable shop in the _Getreidegasse_ filled with junk he smuggles from all over the world. I haven´t seen him quite a while, in fact."

"Hm – he does sound very interesting, darling," said Elsa, leaning a bit closer to him.

"He is – more than you know. Completely _unaristocratic_!" Max added. "Tell me, Georg, does he still keep that remarkable collection of books in the back room?"

"Oh, a book collector! How curious!" Elsa exclaimed.

"Trust me, darling, I don´t think the kind of books he collect would be suitable to your taste."

"Hans Schneider collects books, Captain von Trapp collects governesses," Max said. Georg stilled, the glass of champagne half way to his lips. "Tell me, Georg, how is _number twelve_ doing?"

"Why do you ask?" he asked, a little briskly. The tone did not go unnoticed by Elsa. "You never seem to take interest in any of the previous eleven women I hired."

"Why? Because whenever you hired any of the previous governess and fled to Vienna afterwards, after a few days, all one would hear from you were complaints about the poor woman´s complete inability for the job. But this time – nothing! Not a word. Complete silence."

"I have more far more pleasant things in mind than to think of whatever Fräulein… my new governess is up to, Max," he said, winking at Elsa. "To tell you the truth, I am so fed up with the whole lot of them that, as long as she is not trying to drown my children in the lake, I am perfectly happy for the moment."

It was, after all, the truth. Not the whole truth, but true enough.

The real reason why had had not fired Fräulein Maria before he left was still unknown to him. Not even loyalty towards the Reverend Mother of Nonnberg Abbey explained it because he was sure that the nun would understand his reasons for dismissing her. Lately, he tried to convince himself, to no avail, that he had not sacked her because she was, after all, a lot younger than the others, and certainly inexperienced as a governess, so that her age and inexpertness were a reasonable excuse for her early mistakes. Granted – she was accident prone, but that was something no one could be blamed for.

Whatever the reason was, he had no intention of dwelling upon it any further. Franz and Frau Schmidt had, for some reason, failed to send him the daily reports he had requested, but it hardly mattered to him anymore. He was done with it. Once he was back in Aigen, he would send the girl back to Nonnberg Abbey, where she undoubtedly belonged, in spite of the fact that some of the nuns there considered her to be their black sheep.

It was Elsa, again, who rescued him from unwanted thoughts.

"Now, hurry up, my dears. Five more minutes and we´ll be late, but if we leave now, I´ll have the opportunity to make my perfect entrance at the Opera!"

"Darling, you _always_ make a perfect entrance," Georg said gallantly, as they walked to the door.

_A/N: (1) The painting I have in mind here is Gustav Klimt´s Love (1985). (2) "__**Renaissance Man**__ and (less commonly) __**Homo Universalis**__ are related terms to describe a person who is well educated, or who excels, in a wide variety of subjects or fields. This ideal developed in Renaissance Italy from the notion expressed by one of its most accomplished representatives, Leon Battista Alberti (1404–72): that "a man can do all things if he will". It embodied the basic tenets of Renaissance Humanism, which considered man the centre of the universe, limitless in his capacities for development, and led to the notion that men should try to embrace all knowledge and develop their own capacities as fully as possible. Thus the gifted men of the Renaissance sought to develop skills in all areas of knowledge, in physical development, in social accomplishments, and in the arts."_ Source – Wikipedia. _(3) See my story "Treasures" for more about the character._


	24. Chapter 24

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 24**

_**Changes**_

_**ooo**_

_**"He loved her not  
>with apples or roses or ringlets<br>but with a real madness,  
>and he considered everything else<br>unimportant." **_

_**Theocritus**_

_**ooo**_

"_**All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another." **_

_**Anatole France**_

_**ooo**_

Elsa looked at the guest of honor, sitting across from her at the long, formal dinner table. Meeting her gaze, Captain Georg _Ritter _von Trapp smiled back.

"_Behave, Elsa,_" she censored herself, inwardly.

Although she hated the idea, she had to tell herself that she was too sophisticated to swoon because a man had smiled at her. Fortunately she was not the blushing type, so that there was very little that betrayed her reaction to him... Looking at her now, regally composed, people would never possibly guess that he was the only man capable of making her knees weak only by only looking at her. Maybe the non observant, but not Max Detweiler, who now watched her, intently. No, the old fiend knew her to well to let it pass. What was it that had her betrayed this time? Her rapid breathing or her dilated pupils?

"What?" she asked him, feigning innocence.

"Did I say anything?" was his ironic reply. "I was just sitting here, enjoying my wine, as silence as a little lamb."

"You didn´t have to say anything," she said, meaningfully.

Max Detweiler, however, was not so easily dismissed.

"Apart from how amusing it is to watch you drool over our Captain like a lovesick _débutante_, I must say, my darling Elsa, I am as intrigued as you are. But don´t worry, your secret is forever safe with me."

"That I honestly doubt, darling. But… _i__ntrigued_, Max? You?"

"Yes. Intrigued. Why the surprise?"

She looked at him in awe. Max would never cease to amaze her. As perceptive as he was, she never believed that he could not guess, could not known what was in her mind. Apparently, she had been wrong on all accounts. At the moment, however, she felt that she had to deal with the matter herself, and try to solve the enigma that Georg had become in the past few days alone.

The Captain von Trapp she had met for dinner at the Hotel Sacher, scarcely one hour after he had arrived from Salzburg, was not the same man who had left Vienna less than one month before. At first, she credited the subtle change to the fact that he had been tired and weary after driving so many hours in such foul weather. The next day, however, it was still there, whatever it was. Something had changed in him, something subtle, but very, very important. She did not quite know what, but it had.

Just now, for instance.

He had watched her carefully, as if holding his breath, while she sat down at the dinner table. Almost like if she were expecting her to say something, or expecting something to happen. Then he had shaken his head, as it to brush off a memory – and most definitely not a memory of a lost love this time, because he _smiled_, that little seductive, secretive half smile of his that she had always found so alluring. After that, she could read all sort of conflicting emotions in his face, but grief was not one of them.

Elsa had to give up her careful analysis of the aspects of her intended´s behavior that seemed odd to her when she was obliged to reassume her role of a hostess: she had neglected her dinner guests far too long because of her current love interest. Yet, as soon as the meal was over, and the dinner guests had moved to the drawing room to enjoy their drinks, Elsa was again, a woman with a mission. The mission was to find Captain von Trapp, who was no longer among the guests. It did not take very long for her to guess exactly where he could be.

It would be the third time Elsa would surprised him like that, sitting at the grand piano, staring at the black and white keys. The piano, was exactly like one he had in his own villa – she knew that because both she and Rufus and the von Trapps had gotten it as a wedding gift from Baron and Baroness Eberfeld. She wondered briefly if he had kept the magnificent instrument, worthy of the best concert halls in Europe, after Agathe had died. Although she had never been to Salzburg during the _Salzburger Festspiele_, she knew that the Trapp villa was always very busy during those weeks. Georg and Agathe used to host _soirées_, in which musicians attending the festivals would be guests of honor. Many famous piano concertists had played in that piano. Hers, on the contrary, had only been victim of her own musically untalented fingers…

She stood at the door to the music room, watching him for a few seconds. His hands in his lap were clenched into fists. He ached to touch those keys, to bring forth the music that she knew that he was very well capable of. That was almost palpable in his stance - his clenched jaw, his darkened eyes. The tension in his hands was so great that she could swear that they were shaking.

"_Go on, darling, the piano will not bite your fingers, but I might if you don´t play one of my favorites_" she had said playfully the last time she had found him like that, only to regret it almost immediately when she saw the pain etched in his face. Biting her lips, she realized, as soon as she said the words aloud, that she employed the same light, slightly flirtatious tone that Agathe did when she wanted him to play for her.

"_You can´t live like this forever, Georg_," she had said that day.

"_Do you care to strike a wager on it_?" he had asked, in his usual, self defensive sarcasm.

"_Only if you are ready to admit defeat when the time comes. Trust me, my dear, I´ve been there where you are now_."

"_O-ho, I beg to differ_."

She was intelligent enough to know what he meant that day.

Unlike his, her first marriage had not been a love match. She had been extremely fond of the late Baron Schraeder, and had been faithful and loyal to him until the day he died. Yet, although it had not been an unhappy union, she had to admit that her husband never made her blissfully happy either. In spite of her fondness for Rufus, the fact was that their marriage had been a successful business transaction in which both parts had profited from. Her family was saved from certain ruin and Baron Schraeder got himself an elegant young beauty for a wife.

Nevertheless, Rufus certainly had never looked at her quite in the same way Georg looked at Agathe. No children resulted from their union either - their two attempts in the early years of their marriage had ended in terribly traumatic miscarriages, and she had been advised by the best doctors in Vienna to avoid trying to conceive again. The fact that Georg would probably never want another child – not without seven of his own already – was oddly comforting to her. He certainly did not need or want more heirs!

For all those reasons, unlike Georg, less than one year passed after her husband death until she was ready to start living again, and to move on. She gave every single black item of clothing in her wardrobe to the poor, and vowed never to wear the accursed color again. Soon she was, once more, the best hostess in Vienna, throwing lavish parties in her house, attending every single ball of every season, and never missing a gala night at the Opera.

It had not been like that for Georg.

Elsa vividly remembered the day when he had first met Agathe, at the naval base in Fiume. The future Baroness von Trapp was the one to have the honor of breaking a bottle of champagne, as tradition demanded, in the SMU-6, the submarine Georg had just been assigned to command. Elsa had noticed him first, and the impressionable debutante that she was found herself in awe by the sight of the dashing young naval officer in uniform. She had been overcome with a powerful attraction that she had been too innocent to understand back them, although she had been capable of recognizing it.

"_I want him_," her mind had screamed, her knees weak. "_And I shall have him_…"

However, the moment when he had been introduced to Agathe Whitehead, Elsa had been clever enough to realize that if she ever had any hopes in catching Georg von Trapp´s eyes, and ultimately wearing his wedding band in her finger, she would be only wise if she forgot about it. Because he and her best friend were falling in love right before her very eyes…

Probably for the first and only time in her young life, Elsa von Schraeder, _née_ Comtesse Enns, had shown the best side of her character as soon as she realized that Georg von Trapp was blind to any other woman other than Agathe Whitehead. She had no intention of becoming the epitome of an evil stepsister and stealing her friend´s beloved. If Agathe had not been at all interested in the young naval officer, or even if she were interested, but he did not reciprocate, she might try to charm him. That obviously wasn´t the case, and Elsa did have one remarkable quality. She was fiercely loyal to those she considered friends. Her loyalty to Agathe, whom she had known forever, was unquestionable, and, in the name of that loyalty, she pushed any hopes about Captain von Trapp aside from that very first day, even in spite of the strong physical attraction she felt towards him… An attraction that she realized was very much alive when she met him, a couple of decades later, at the Eberfeld´s home, when there was so little of him that reminded her of the dashing sea captain she had met more than a decade earlier.

Georg had been right that day – to let go of Agathe would not be easy, not for him. Not as easy as it had been for her to let go of Rufus, at least. However, she would make a promise to her dear friend, in her deathbed – she would try to keep Georg from being destroyed by his grief. It was a mission that she had accepted with the same seriousness he had accepted his military tasks, one she was bent on succeeding.

"_I will begin with that cursed piano,_" she thought, briefly leaving the room before she saw her and running across the hall to the library, where she quickly found what she wanted.

"Here," she said, returning the music room. "I knew I had those somewhere," she said. Sitting on the piano bench next to him, she began arranging some music sheet before his eyes.

"What are you up to now, darling?"

"It will be a lovely idea to have some music in this house. I completely lack any kind of musical talent, but you, on the other hand…"

He tensed visibly, his jaw clenched, and he said nothing, not at first. So, she continued until she got some kind of response from him.

"Never mind the yellowish color, I haven´t touched these since my mother forced me to take piano lessons. I was so horrid." she rambled on, while he remained silent. "But I think we can find something that is adequate for your skills."

"Elsa," he murmured, when he noticed that she was not going to give up. "Not now!"

His tone was enough of a warning, but she chose to ignore it. With him, she had always acted like that, and it had always worked.

"No, Georg. I let you get away with this once, but not anymore. I admit, it was too soon before, but now you have to be ready for it. It is killing you, you know, to be away from your music."

"Elsa… It is not only the memories, darling. Honestly, if it was just that I would have started playing two years ago when I met you again – perhaps that very same night at the Eberfeld´s. But playing the piano is not exactly like riding a bicycle. You don´t forget the notes, but your fingers become clumsy and they forget what they are supposed to do."

"I know, you are too much of a perfectionist to be able to live with that."

"Precisely."

"Interesting, Georg, but unconvincing," she said honestly. "I know what those big hands and long fingers of yours are capable of doing, my dear, and they are _not_ clumsy."

"Ah ha," he chuckled.

"No, I won´t take a no for an answer. Let me see what I have here… I hope that we can find something appropriate for your skills. I have the complete edition of Mozart´s Sonatas. That should lift everyone´s spirits!"

"Elsa…" he said her name again – this time his voice was entirely devoid of mirth.

"Beethoven´s _Pathetique, _ Bach´s inventions, something by Scarlatti… I wish I had something from one of those Russians you are so fond of, but their work was always so beyond anything I was ever able to accomplish that I never bothered to… What is this doing here? Oh my, those really made me suffer. _Heller_´s piano studies!"

His reaction was as violent as it was unexpected. He banged the piano keys, resulting in an awful, loud and dissonant sound. It was enough to make her jump on the seat, and look at him in complete surprise. Never before he had reacted like that to her gentle coaxing.

She was rendered speechless for a moment, but she recovered quickly. Whatever had caused his reaction, her keen sixth sense told her that it had not been the memory of his wife. Why she knew that, she wasn´t sure. No, this was more inward than outward. He usually closed himself to the world, by turning into silence, by turning away and leaving, or – what most ordinarily happened – by letting out one of his dry and sarcastic remarks. Sometimes, when she pushed him too far, he would just walk away without a word. Certainly, punching a precious grand piano was not a typical gesture for the Georg von Trapp she knew. It had been such an _outburst_. She had caught him by surprise, and he had reacted accordingly. It had not been grief, but something else.

"_I think there is hope for him, at last,_" she thought, taking his reaction as a positive sign.

"Well… How silly of me, I thought this would help," she said, hating that her voice shook slightly. "Forgive me for being so insistent, darling. I went too far."

He took her hands in his.

"No, forgive me for reacting like that. It was an inexcusable outburst. It was not your persistency, on the contrary. If it weren´t for you I would still be that half dead man you met two years ago." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I will play again one day soon. I promise. But _this… _Believe it or not, it was not… because of you," he said.

"What was it then, Georg? _Who_ was it?" she asked, mentally congratulating herself for being right.

Suddenly, he was no longer looking at her. He was staring at the music sheets with the most unreadable expression in his face.

"Things are irrevocably changing, Elsa. There is too much happening at once. Just too much. Sometimes…" he chuckled. "… sometimes things can be quite overwhelming, even to a seasoned old sailor like myself."

"Politics? I know how much you worry about what will happen to your Austria."

"It´s _your_ Austria too, Elsa," he reminded her. "Yes, it worries me. The possibility of seeing whatever little is left of my country completely disappear is enough to keep me from sleeping at night. I have been trying to be practical about it – I am wiring money to Switzerland, just in case we have to flee one day."

"Oh dear, do you think we run that risk?"

He shrugged. "I think there is a possibility, and if that happens one day I won´t be unprepared. I have seven children, I will do everything and anything I can to protect them."

"Oh yes, the children. You worry about them, obviously" she stated.

"Of course I worry about my children," he said irritably, which made her sure that she had hit the mark – or at least close to the mark.

She still did not understand what Heller´s _Études_ had to do with the current state of Austrian politics or the von Trapp children. She knew Georg had virtually banished music from his life – and consequently theirs, she so believed – after the loss of his wife. No, the music book must have been the last drop before his patience expired. Yet, apart from all that, it was curious that there was something else other than annoyance in his reply. She detected a tone of… _relief_? Unknowingly, she had given him the perfect excuse not to reveal to her what was really bothering.

"_The children,_" she thought. "_Always the children!_"

He continued speaking, still staring at the music sheets.

"I got a telegram from Franz earlier today – that would be my butler. He says that our phone in Aigen is inexplicably dead, so he cannot give me the daily reports I asked for because of the…" he seemed to be stumble upon the next words, "… the new governess."

"You always trusted your servants completely to run things in your home while you were away. Daily reports now? How very unlike you, Georg?"

"Why? Shouldn´t I want to know what my children and the… what my children are up to?" he asked, and his tone was one of self-defense.

"Yes, but you never seemed to care before. Not long ago you were here in Vienna for six weeks, and not a word about the children. What has changed, darling?"

There, she had maneuvered him back to the subject again. However, she knew he would not give in so easily.

"_Nothing_ has changed, Elsa," he said, looking at her with that dangerous half smile, challenging her to keep questioning him.

She laughed.

"Do be careful, darling, you are contradicting yourself. You just said a moment ago that things _were_ changing..."

"I know what I said," he exclaimed, irritably. "I – uh – I wasn´t talking about Austria, I was talking about _us_, of course. We are adults and we both know where this is leading and it is time we…" his voice died, and she insisted.

"It is time we what?" She held her breath.

He rolled his eyes.

"Georg, darling, why do you have to torture me like that!"

"Elsa, darling, you know we can´t… I can´t decide anything until I make sure all is well with the children. And at the moment, there is a… minor complication. This… this new _governess_, Fräulein…" There he was, staring at the music book again.

"The one Max was talking about."

"Yes, the very same."

"Since when a servant has you so worried, Georg?"

"I am not worry about _her_, specifically, and she is not a servant," he said immediately, and with surprising vehemence. "That is, not quite," he corrected himself. "She is on loan to me… to us."

"On loan?"

"From Nonnberg Abbey."

"Good Lord, what is a Benedictine nun doing in your villa?"

"Looking after my children - which is precisely the problem. The Reverend Mother referred her to me. She is not exactly a nun, but she will be one very soon. She is not very much a governess either."

"I see. How old is she?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"I have no idea. I usually do not inquire my governesses about her age," was his sarcastic comment. "It is completely irrelevant for the job they are hired to do."

"Well, why worry them? Who better than a future nun to discipline seven children? After all, you have tried everything else, haven´t you? That is, if the ludicrous tales Max has been telling me about your previous governesses are true."

"O-ho, they are quite true, I assure you."

"Why do I have a feeling that you are a little too worried about a nun looking after your little ones? She is a _nun,_ Georg, what is so fearsome about that?"

He looked at her enigmatically, then shrugged.

"Elsa, it _is _important to me that nothing changes in the children's routine, especially now. If we decide to – uh - _settle_ things between us, I don´t want anything else disrupting their lives."

"I see… Don´t worry, I am sure your little darlings will be just fine." He did not look like he believed her at all, but she was satisfied for the moment. "Come on, now, let us join our guests, before Max once again starts acting like a chaperon…"


	25. Chapter 25

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 25**

_**Gazebos and pianos**_

_**ooo**_

"_**If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise."**_

**_William Blake_**

**_ooo_**

"_**Under my head till morning; but the rain**_

_**Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh**_

_**Upon the glass and listen for reply..."**_

_**Edna St Vincent Millay**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray." **_

_**Lord Byron**_

_**ooo**_

_Meanwhile, in Salzburg…_

Something good resulted from her last confrontation with Captain von Trapp just before he departed for Vienna: for as long as she lived, Maria would never forget the first sight of the gazebo.

After he left in his car, the rain was so heavy the outlandish purple umbrella proved to be useless. Her habit was practically drenched, her shoes were wet. Because of the children´s prank, small twigs and dead leaves now clung to her hair and her clothes. Naturally she could not re-enter the house by the front door in such a state, she would leave behind puddles of mud and dirt in that gorgeous, shinning marble floor. Instead, she chose to walk around the house, looking for the back door she had used the day before, when she had to climb the oak tree to retrieve her shoes. However, since she was not blessed with a good sense of direction, she ended up circling the house in the wrong way – clockwise, instead of counterclockwise. Turning around a second corner of the house, she came across a beautiful, inviting terrace – or, at least, it would certainly be so in good weather. Then, as she was about to turn around another corner, she saw it, half hidden among the trees.

The gazebo.

It existed after all.

The purple umbrella fell from her hands, entirely forgotten. Maria did not care – she run towards the folly, clutching the precious little vase of flowers to her bosom. She wanted more than just reaching for shelter from the rain, there was something else about the place that beckoned her, just like the mountains in a sunny day. There was a welcoming warmth about the gazebo that had nothing to do with heat or cold. Also, if possible, it was even more beautiful than she had imagined it. It looked like it was made of pure crystal, instead of metal and glass. She was simply mesmerized by it.

Was it because of the tales she had heard about it from that bus driver? In all honesty, her answer to that question would be a resounding "_no_". Romantic stories had always failed to move her, although she had read her enough of them in her time. There was no reason for her to believe that she should start to be affected by such silly notions now that she was about to become a nun.

"_I will not cry!"_ she said aloud, stomping her feet on the ground as she walked in circles inside the gazebo, as if trying to follow the rhythm of the rain falling against the glass walls.

She firmly_ refused_ to cry about it, although the last argument with the Captain had left her on the verge of tears. Thinking about the children´s suffering could make her cry easily, but no, not him. She vowed she would never shed a tear because of anything that the infuriating, obnoxious, haughty and unbelievably prickly sea captain said or did to her. Yet, for the first time since her arrival, she was considering giving up. If she gave in to her impulsive nature, she would march upstairs, pack her things and leave immediately, without a second thought. If the pouring rain was not so persistent, she would have done that.

But the rain kept falling, and she was, in a way, trapped inside the gazebo. That gave her the precious time Maria needed to think, to ponder about what her next decision would be.

As she gazed at the rain streaked transparent walls, inevitably, her thoughts returned to the events of earlier that same morning.

_Three hours earlier…_

Maria had always been, first and foremost an incurable optimist. After her disastrous first day in the Trapp villa, she woke up the following morning at the crack of dawn with her confidence renewed.

"I'll show them. I'll show _him_," she kept saying, as she left her room and finding her way through the maze of corridors in the Trapp villa.

It was just before 4 am when she rose from her bed with that firm resolution in mind. The house was completely silent, and it was still dark outside. She was very careful in order not to make any noise, removing her shoes until she was outside. The last thing she wanted was to add another one to the list of her many mishaps.

The garden shed and the greenhouse that Frau Schmidt had mentioned to her the previous evening were not difficult to locate. There she indeed she had found all she needed for a simple idea she'd had. An old little vase that would look a lot better after being quickly cleaned and scrubbed, and the rest of the material she needed to plant the delicate alpine flower she had brought with her from the Abbey. A token from her last escape to the Untersberg, just a few days before she was sent to the Trapp villa.

Maria knew so little, and yet, it was all so obvious to her. The children needed a mother; the Captain was in desperate need of a wife.

Well, maybe he wasn´t _desperate_, but it was obvious that he _needed_ one, whether he acknowledged the fact or not.

In Maria's eyes, only a good wife would be able to sweeten his sour disposition, to mend his broken heart, and maybe bring some warmth to those dark blue eyes that were usually so cold. Yet, the children would have no mother, and the Captain would remain a widower forever, if things continued as they were in the von Trapp household. That boatswain whistle alone would be enough to send any prospective mother/wife running for dear life, and Maria had no reason to believe that it would be different with Baroness von _Whateverhernamewas._ No, the woman would need at least a sign that the Trapp villa was a welcoming _home_, not only a place where an aristocratic family lived.

She discarded all other possible flowers when she remembered the Edelweiss. The choice was just so _perfect_ that the mere thought of it had her jumping with joy. She had grown up with stories of dashing young men who had lost their lives trying to pick the flower from the dangerous alpine cliffs, only to offer the delicate white flower to their beloved, as a token of their love. It was even said that the Emperor had once risked his neck only to pick the flower for his lovely Empress Sissi. It was so romantic, but also so tragic, and she had always been glad that her decision do dedicate her life to God would, at least, prevent the death of some lovesick youth out there, just in case he had the absurd idea of gifting her with the delicate white flowers.

However, she had never considered the sad aspects of the Edelweiss legend when thinking about the Captain and his Baroness.

Firstly, because, as little as she had seen and heard of the Captain, he did not seem to have a single romantic bone in his body. Granted, he _might_ have been a romantic in the past, with his wife when she was alive, but not anymore.

Secondly, because she had picked the flowers herself, without managing to break her neck in the process. The Captain would not have to run the same risk – although she imagined that, if he had, he would escape unscathed. A man like him would _never_ allow himself fall from a cliff in the first place, let alone let himself be convinced to go and pick flowers for his lady love. For a moment, the unlikely image of Captain von Trapp gathering wildflowers had been enough to make her giggle. She doubted that the Baroness, who obviously knew him better, would be able to believe that he had found the flowers himself, and that was when she had the idea of telling that the Edelweiss was from the children.

The Captain, however, did not see the hint of romance in her plans at all. On the contrary, he had reacted to it in the worst manner she could possibly have imagined. He had sneered at her seemingly brilliant idea, and simply refused to take the flowers to Vienna, even as a gift from the children to the Baroness. He had scowled her, calling her plan a _waste of time,_ and banging the door of his very expensive looking car in her astonished face. When that happened, her frustration was so great that she was not able to react, and merely stared mutely at the retreating vehicle while he drove off. Later, she thought that, if she had behaved like her usual self, she would have run after his automobile all the way to Vienna, carrying that little vase, if necessary.

Why hadn't she done that? Why hadn't she argued her point as she usually did with such vehemence?

She pondered over those questions over and over again, pacing in endless circles.

Looking out to the path that led to the gazebo, her eyes fell upon the discarded purple umbrella.

"_I will probably need it again if this rain doesn´t stop falling,_" she concluded. It was almost six now, the children should be up in about one hour or so. In the Captain´s strict schedule, their breakfast was scheduled for eight o´clock.

A sudden gush of wind blew the umbrella away just as Maria was about to dash out of the gazebo to retrieve it. Mesmerized, she watched as the breeze carried it higher and higher, before dropping it, almost gently, in the middle of the lake.

An omen perhaps? Or a sign that she should start thinking more carefully before acting so impulsively again?

Whatever it was, Maria had no other choice but to remain inside for a while longer.

And think…

A vase with one solitary, frail Edelweiss.

A simple token of affection from the children to his future bride, their future mother, that was all there was to it, it was all she had intended.

_Why couldn´t he understand that? _

It would be enough to melt any warm blooded woman's heart. It hadn't been enough to melt _his_ cold blooded heart, but that was something Maria now sensed that would require something short of a miracle. Austria´s favorite flower would hardly be enough, even for a patriot like him, and it had been naïve of her to believe it would.

Yes, he had scowled and sneered, and then he went on to lecture her again about "_matters in this house which she was not supposed to meddle with."_ Not to mention his fierce glare, calculated to intimidate her, to inspire fear. He would never know that it was not only fear it had inspired. Not fear of the Captain, but so something else, something so elusive, a feeling so new that she had yet to define and give it a name.

She shuddered, and stopped pacing.

"_I´m shivering, although I am not cold,_" she thought. "_This cannot be a good sign. I must return to the house as quickly as possible and get into dry clothes, or else I will catch a fever. If that happens, I will not be able to help the children_… _or _anyone_._"

The rain had diminished a little, but not enough yet for her to return to the house. She remembered the hideous purple umbrella, now completely out of reach.

"_Well, I don´t think anyone will ever miss it,_" she thought with a shrug. Those people had certainly bigger worried than that!

While she waited for the rain to calm down, she started making plans for the children. It was all that was left for her to do, since the alternative was unthinkable: if she allowed her thoughts free rein, she would start thinking about the children´s father again.

Looking around herself, Maria considered the glass walled gazebo in the first place. Never mind the romantic tale behind it, if there was any truth to it at all. It was perfect for something else she had in mind: the children. Their old nursery was a good place to study and play, but, it was also so uninviting, so unattractive to them! It would remain so, unless she took the liberty of doing a little… _redecorating. _No changes would ever be needed for the gazebo, on the other hand. The place was perfect just as it was. It would be beautiful if it was sunny, but they would also love if it was raining as it would be an excellent idea to bring the children out here, for their morning lessons at least. She could bring her guitar and sing for them, and maybe after they warmed up to her a little, they would join her for a song or two…

It was also a clever idea. She did not think no one would mind, not even _him._ Even if he did, he would not be able to say a word against it – after all, he had specifically mentioned rooms _inside _the house that should not be disturbed, he hadn´t said a word about _outside._ What better place could there be for children who needed to feel that they belonged to a warm loving family than a place that symbolized the love their parents felt for each other?

When she was finally able to leave the gazebo there was a rainbow in the sky. Another omen, this time a good one. A divine sign that she had been absolutely right about the magic of that place. After all, she was a different Maria now than the one she was when she first looked for shelter inside those protective glass walls.

Frau Schmidt looked at her worriedly when she entered the house through the kitchen door.

"Fräulein Maria, are you all right? Did the children get you again?"

"No, the poor darlings had nothing to do with it this time," she was quick to reassure her. "It was entirely my fault, I went for an early walk and I was caught by the rain."

There – it was only a half truth, but she did not feel the need to bother the housekeeper with the entire sad story.

"I found the gazebo and waited there until the rain stopped," she explained. "But I´m afraid that by the time that happened, the damage had already been done."

The woman´s face lit up, and she smiled.

"Beautiful, isn´t it? Oh wait until you see it when the sun is shining, or – better yet – under the moonlight. That gazebo has always been a favorite to anyone who visits the house. As the Captain liked to say, it was built as a gift from a man to a woman who had everything…" she finished, enigmatically.

Maria did not insist, she already knew more than she wanted to know. The man was Captain von Trapp, the woman was his wife, the late Baroness – she had gathered as much from the story the bus story had told her. The housekeeper probably thought it would be indiscreet of her to start revealing too many details about the von Trapps to a new governess who had arrived in the house less than twenty four hours ago.

"Are the children still in bed?" Maria asked anxiously, this time not really wishing to ruin her recently recovered good mood by staying and listening to whatever the housekeeper would have to say about the Captain, his wife and the gazebo.

"Yes, don´t worry, Fräulein. You still have about one hour before their breakfast, plenty of time for you to dry yourself and change."

She hurried back to her room, whistling – for the first time in three days - and climbing the stairs two steps at a time.

There had been other moments in those first few days when Maria believed she would not accomplish anything at all. She thought that it would all end a disaster, and she would return to the Reverend Mother in disgrace, because she would have failed to do God's will.

But she persisted.

Her tactic was to follow the instructions she had been given as best as she could. It would be useless to fight them from the start – she had no chance of winning until she gained some respect, not only from the children, but from the other members of the household staff as well. Thus, she followed the Captain´s timetable as best as she could at first. Now and then, she would made some mental notes, about what she could change and how.

The first days were of an almost pleasant, but tiring routine, broken only by one practical joke now and then – to which Maria reacted with the usual stoicism. The fact that the Captain did not contact the children at all bothered her, but when she inquired Frau Schmidt about it, the woman said that it was always like that when he traveled – he rarely called home. She also had told Maria that the telephone had been dead since the previous day, so that even if he tried to speak to them, it would have been impossible. Franz had been sending him news by telegram once in a while, but the butler was forced to leave the villa for a few days, after he had fallen ill with a bad case of stomach flu.

"_That suits me perfectly,_" Maria thought, not daring to reveal that to Frau Schmidt. Not that she would ever wish Franz to be sick, but the absence of the starchy looking butler, who always seemed to be watching her, had certainly made the air in Aigen easier to breathe. The other employers may just shake her heads because of her _methods_, the housekeeper may even find them amusing in secret, but Maria had no little doubt that not only Frau Schmidt, but, Franz would surely report to the Captain as soon as things became too… _different_. Fate was most certainly on her side.

After the children were in bed, Maria used to go to the sewing room where Frau Poppmeier, one of the elderly maid who was also a seamstress, helped her with the new play clothes and with her own new dresses. There she would stay until the wee hours of the morning, even after Frau Poppmeier had retired.

"Frau Poppmeier, I was wondering about a little something," she asked her one evening.

"Yes, dear?" the woman asked, distractedly.

"Isn't there a piano somewhere?"

One of the first things she had noticed the following day was the complete absence of music in the house. She had heard enough from the old bus driver about concerts in the old days, and yet there wasn´t an instrument in sight apart from her own old guitar. Frau Schmidt had told her that the Captain had banned music.

However, she had no idea how seriously he seemed to take that particular rule. Maria had only a vague idea of how children in aristocratic families were educated, but that was enough to tell her that piano lessons were part of the requirements, and a grand piano an essential piece of furniture. If Captain was willing to forfeit such an important part of the children´s education because of his grief was enough to tell her how deep the man´s pain was.

Frau Poppmeier was visibly disturbed by her question.

"A _piano_?"

"Yes. You see, all I know about distinguished households I learned in books. And in every single one of them, there is a piano. I am yet to see one here yet, even though there are some music sheets in the library. I find it _very_ unusual!"

"Fräulein Maria, you'll soon learn that the apparent lack of a piano is _not_ the only unusual thing in this house."

"Ohhh…"

Well, that should not come as a surprise to her, should it?

"There is one – at least there used to be," Frau Poppmeier said after a long pause, when Maria started believing that she would not say another word about the subject. "A beautiful grand piano."

"_Where_?" she asked, in wide-eyed curiosity.

"No, don't even think it, my dear. I must give you some good advice now: don't ever mention it to anyone, especially to the master of the house."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"The Captain had it locked in the attic, along with everything else which belonged to the late Baroness. It was one of the first things he did after she died."

"The _attic?_" Maria gasped. It was more a surprised statement than a question. "_Up there?_ How did he…"

"Don't ask me how on earth did they carry it up there, but that just tells us how much he wanted it out of sight. It is – or was - such a beautiful grand piano. It is said that great names played it - Horowitz, Richter, Cortot… (1) There were always musical parties here during the _Festspiele_."

"Yes, I… I´ve been told," she blurted.

Frau Poppmeier silenced, and Maria sensed that she had been afraid of revealing too much. Naturally, she had no way of knowing that the governess had heard about those concerts before.

"_What in heavens was such a precious instrument doing in an attic? How did they even get it up there?"_ There were just too many questions popping in Maria's mind, but she chose the one about the bit of information which had staggered her the most since she had first heard it.

"Does the Captain play the piano!"

Oh, she simply _had _to ask that one. She´d been trying to picture the scene, without much success. She just wasn't able to conjure the image of the martinet playing a sentimental piece of music. A military march, maybe. Of all the things that driver had told her on her way to Aigen, after meeting Captain von Trapp in the flesh, this was one that she found hard to believe.

"He used to, and magnificently. It is said that he could have become a pianist, but he chose the glories of the Navy instead. Much more suitable for an aristocrat, don't you think?" Maria merely shrugged. "The Baroness used to accompany him with the violin, or playing four-hand pieces. Sometimes they would sing. We - the servants – we would listen from the kitchen. It was so lovely!"

"What about the children? Did they take any part in it?"

"Certainly! The whole family is musically inclined. The five eldest were all taking music lessons before the Baroness died."

"_He is a musician, which means that he does have a sensitive soul hidden somewhere… I, on the other hand, love music with all my heart. _ _I _know _what to do with music, and I know what music can do. Maybe I could use music to help the children reach him. Maybe…_"

The idea that Maria carried with her from the Abbey began to take shape in Maria's mind, and she had then fired Frau Poppmeier with more questions. The seamstress answered them all, patiently, and Maria learned a bit more about the full extent of Captain von Trapp´s pain when he lost the woman he loved. She did not put her plan in action, however, until a week later when she had taken the children, now dressed in their _play clothes_ for their first outing.

_(1) Those were all active piano concertists in the 1930 – a golden age of piano players._


	26. Chapter 26

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 26**

_**Let´s start at the very beginning**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Do, a deer, a female deer  
>Re, a drop of golden sun<br>Mi, a name I call myself  
>Fa, a long, long way to run<br>Sol, a needle pulling thread  
>La, a note to follow Sew<br>Ti, a drink with jam and bread  
>That will bring us back to do…"<strong>_

_**Rodgers & Hammerstein**_

_**ooo**_

The landscape was just too beautiful to be put in words, so Maria gave up trying to describe it in a letter to two of her former friends from the Abbey, Christina and Theresa. She remembered them fondly – she had promised to visit them whenever she could, but she had used her first free day to sew her own clothes and the clothes for the children. Maria gave up in her attempts, replacing the block of paper and the pencil back in the basket, and allowed herself a few moments of peace, while the children played in the green meadow.

"_Why didn't the Reverend Mother chose Theresa and not me for this task?_" she wondered.

Theresa came from a noble family; her father had a nobility title. She certainly would be much more at ease in the lavish villa, and much less intimidated by its owner. She played the piano beautifully, and even spoke _French and English_! She would react to the Captain with cool and elegant hauteur, not in the unspeakable manner in which Maria had responded to him. Lastly, Theresa would _never_ do something so undignified such as climbing a tree and she would not fall from it on top of her employer. She would not scream her head off only because she sat on a harmless pine cone. Finally, least of all, her friend certainly would not engage in a pillow fight with the children in the middle of the night.

Maria dared to allow herself to think about the children's father for a moment.

"_I wonder what the Captain is doing now_," she mused, gazing at the mountains, so tall and majestic that it almost felt like they were about to fall over her… not unlike the subject of her thoughts. "_Certainly not running among wildflowers, in a grassy meadow… It is a pity; it would be wonders to his disposition, not to mention add a little color to his face. Handsome he is, but oh, so pale! But no, he is most probably waltzing madly with Baroness _Whatishername_ in a glittering ballroom, stopping only to drink his wine and chat with his highbrow friends who were probably just as overbearing, haughty, pretentious and _patronizing_ as he was…_"

No, she did not envy him or that Baroness of his. She was happy there as she was, surrounded by his children, doing her best to follow God´s will and help them as best as she could.

She assumed the Captain knew how to waltz, as every gentleman supposedly did. Waltz, drink champagne, speak dozens of different languages… At least it was how the rich and noble behaved in the novels she had read – especially the decadent ones, the rakes who were always intending to make the heroine stray from her good path and lead her to a fate worse than death, whatever that meant exactly. Concluding that perhaps the Captain was certainly not decadent enough to be waltzing and drinking champagne at 10 o'clock in the morning, she envisioned him riding a pureblood horse, as the Lipizzans he bred in his property. The Baroness, still faceless in her mind, certainly would be with him, looking equally regal and sophisticated…

Why was she thinking about the Captain?

"_Because he is the _father_ of those poor little dears I am supposed to guide, and the source of all their problems,_" she supplied the answer. "_Look at them all, they were born rich and noble, they live in this perfect house in this perfect part of Austria. They shouldn´t have to suffer like that. Dear Lord, I was born out of nothing, I never had anything of my own and yet it seems that I had an easier time than they did. Why is that?"_

"_Because you can´t miss what you never had,"_ her conscience answered this time. "_They had a mother´s love, and a father´s love. Yet, all that was taken from them. It is no wonder that they reacted the way they did… Oh, I can´t help it, I must occupy myself with the Captain, he is the reason behind it all…_"

She considered that irritably, sitting up straight again, with a jolt. Watching the children, making sure all seven of them were in sight, she began biting on her pinky finger, distractedly – one of her nervous gestures. The trouble was that it seemed that ever since that first night, her mind would wander in his direction for no reason, even when she did not have the children in mind. And she would _dream_ about him at night. She never had any dreams about _anyone_ in particular before, least of all a man. The most disturbing dreams, although, blessedly, she would remember very little in the morning. Maybe if she had not fallen on top of him, if they had not rolled so that he was on top of her for an instant… In her dreams, the incident was replayed over and over again, but instead of lasting for an instant, it happened in slow motion. Only in dreams she was able to fully recall the feeling of the weight of his body on top of hers, because when she awoke, it was transformed in something so fragile that her conscious mind repressed it, as soon as she tried to remember.

"_No, forget the Captain now_," she reminded herself. "_He is not here, his children are. You must to something to help them, and fast…_"

The only thing about him that mattered was – assuming that her idea would work - the look in his face when he returned and heard the children… A look that would certainly make the return trip from Aigen to Salzburg a bit more pleasant, she smiled, anticipating her little revenge. It hardly mattered if he decided to send her away just after that – it would be worth it!

"Fraulein Maria?" said Louisa, coming to sit on the ground close to her.

"Mm hm?" was Maria's distracted response.

"You were smiling like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland just not!"

"Was I?"

"Oh yes, you were – you still are."

"Hmmm. What is it that you want, Louisa?"

"Can we do this every day?"

Maria looked at the thirteen year old quizzically. Her tone of voice was friendly, more accommodating than usual. Of all the children, Louisa was proving the hardest one to win over, the one who still did not quite look up to her, the one with whom Maria still had difficulty in establishing her authority. She already guessed that she would probably be the last one to give up playing pranks on their governess. Most of all, she was also a very clever girl and Maria guessed that Louisa sensed how much she wanted to win her confidence, and used that knowledge to her advantage.

"Don't you think you'd soon get tired of it, Louisa?" she asked, seriously.

As usual, Louisa fought back.

"Didn't you get tired of staying inside that Abbey and _praying_ all the time?"

"_Ouch,_" Maria said. "We do not _pray all the time_ at the Abbey, Louisa. There is a lot of work to do, much more than you can possibly imagine," she answered, ignoring the girl´s insolent glance. "We have to cook, clean, wash and make our own clothes, for instance. There is the garden and the orchard to take care of, the cows have to be milked, and eggs have to be gathered…"

"Hmm," the girl shrugged. "It is not quite the same thing but… All right, all right! I suppose that I would get tired after a while" she agreed, reluctantly. "Every other day?" she suggested slyly.

Before Maria could answer, Kurt joined them.

"I haven't had so much fun since the day we put glue on Fräulein Josephine's toothbrush."

"Who was Fräulein Josephine?" Maria asked.

"Governess number 8," Liesl replied, also joining them.

"I can't understand how children as nice as you can manage to play such awful tricks on people," she said, immediately regretting that she had sounded just a little patronizing. In her scant experience, the Captain´s children would not respond to that very well.

"Oh, it's easy."

"But why do it?" Maria insisted.

It was Brigitta who supplied the answer this time.

"Well, how else can we get Father's attention?"

"Yes," agreed Liesl.

"Oh, I see. Well, we'll have to think about that one."

The children had not told her anything that she hadn't already guessed, but she still considered the matter very seriously before taking the next step. There would be no going back.

Hastily, she got up and clasped her hands.

"All right, everybody. Over here." She took her guitar and sat on a rock nearby.

"What are we going to do?" asked Liesl, a bit uncertain, staring at Maria's guitar. "Does father know you keep that?" she asked, pointing to the instrument.

Maria looked at the sixteen year old for a moment. Although she had believed otherwise at first, after Louisa, it was _Liesl_ who was proving to be the hardest to conquer, even when after that first dreadful dinner Maria had rescued her from the Captain's wrath by telling a small lie. She had thought she had gained the girl's confidence that day, but she had been wrong. All of her attempts to talk to the girl about the boy Rolfe were promptly rebuffed, politely but very firmly.

"_You are _not_ my mother,_" she had said after Maria´s last attempt to talk to her.

Yet, the sixteen year old was a constant source of worry for her. It was a troublesome age, a dangerous time in your life to be left an orphan without proper guidance.

"_But look at you, you had no one and did just fine, Maria,_" she would tell herself, only to be reminded that, at that age, although she had not entered the convent yet, she had already made the decision to commit herself to a religious life, and that kept her from straying into dangerous paths. Liesl, on the other hand, was escaping the Captain´s watchful eye to meet a telegram boy in the gazebo.

"_Oh dear, I hope she knows what she is doing… I hope she knows what she should _not_ do as well. I hope doesn´t get into serious trouble until she trusts someone enough to guide her,_" she thought.

She would never have imagined it would be so hard – this _parenthood_ business – although in her case it was more like a twisted version of _motherhood._ No wonder her employer was so _lost _without his wife_,_ so clueless about the proper way to handle children. It had to be easier for him with the little ones, but the three eldest – the late Baroness never saw any of her seven children reaching the complicated age of thirteen in life. Louisa must have been barely that age when she died. Poor Captain, he must have felt utterly inept for the first time in his life. Not a very comfortable feeling tor a man used to succeed in everything he had ever attempted...

Realizing that she was again brooding about the Captain, Maria blinked several time, as if to shake off unwanted thoughts. She would give the Liesl/Rolfe problem further consideration later. Now she had more urgent things that needed to be addressed.

She cleared her throat to answer Liesl´s question.

"Yes, the Captain knows I brought a guitar with me," she replied steadily to the eldest von Trapp girl. "I never saw a reason to hide _anything_ from him," she added, wondering if Liesl would catch the subtle message in her words.

"Didn´t he scold you?"

"No, he didn´t," another firm and simple answer, although this time her voice faltered slightly.

Well, _scold_ her he did, about many things, including Liesl, but strangely enough, not about the old guitar.

The girl shrugged.

"Fine, but if I were you, I would not play it when he is around, Fräulein."

Maria smiled.

"Then it is good that I am not you, Liesl, because playing my guitar when your father is around is _precisely_ what I am planning to do next!"

Liesl blue eyes became impossibly wide, her jaw dropped.

"But he…"

"Oh, I´m sure he won´t mind if we do this right, which means that we have a lot of work to do and little time to waste."

"What exactly are we going to do, Fräulein?"

"Let's think of something to sing for the Baroness when she comes. And your uncle _whatishisname_."

"It's uncle Max. But father doesn't like us to sing," informed Marta. "Liesl is right – we could get into trouble."

"Yes, he could sack you," said Brigitta. "It would be easy, you know. Easier still in your case because you are not _really_ a governess."

"Yes," agreed Kurt. "He keeps a list of future governesses in his desk, all he would have to do would be to ring the next one."

Maria ignored the last bit of information about her insufferable employer, and looked at all of them, still smiling. She would win their trust, even if that was the last thing she accomplished in that house.

She took a deep breath.

"Well, I am your governess _now,_ Brigitta. And I am not afraid of your father. Neither should you be."

"It is not exactly a matter of _fear_, Fräulein," said Friedrich, who had been watching the scene silently until now. "_He does not like it_."

"I find it hard to believe." Taking a deep breath first, she decided to play a dangerous card. "I heard your father is a very fine musician."

"That was a long time ago," said Friedrich.

"Yes – _before,_" Kurt added meaningfully. "I don´t think he even remembers music now."

"That is silly, Kurt, no one ever forgets music – at least no one forgets to _love _music. It is almost like riding a bicycle."

"I don´t know…"

"I think he will not like it at all, things could became ugly," said Louisa. "He _really _does not like us to hear us singing!"

"Well, perhaps we can change his mind."

"We'll probably only make him mad," said Kurt, as the children still seemed a bit reluctant to accept her idea. In spite of Friedrich´s words, inspiring fear in his children might not have been the Captain's intention in the first place, but that was what his actions had caused. If Maria wanted to help that family, and thus fulfill God's errand, she had to begin to change that.

"Now, what songs do you know?" She insisted. "Come on, we´ll have to start _somewhere._"

"We don't know any songs," said Friedrich forlornly. Maria now knew the reason for the sadness in his voice. Of all the children, Frau Poppmeier had told that he was the most talented, and if he had continued his lessons, he certainly would be as good a pianist as his father ever was, maybe even better.

"Not any?" Maria asked, amazed. "Nothing? Not even a nursery rhyme?" she insisted, but they all only lowered their gazes.

She found that impossible to believe. Even the children from her school, or from the orphanage, knew nursery rhymes and children's songs.

"We don't even know how to sing," said Louisa, as if only them, realizing how much had been missing from their lives.

"Mmmm…"

Maria had never considered herself to be a musician in the strict sense of the word. It wasn't until she joined the Abbey that she had her first music lesson. What she had was a crystal clear soprano voice. Sister Catherine, who directed the postulant's choir, heard her singing the first week she was in the Abbey and immediately invited to join the rest of the group. It was only then that Maria had learned how to control her powerful voice – and so well that soon she was invited to help Sister Catherine with the choral group formed by some of the children of the orphanage. Although she lacked all the professional skills of her musical mentor, Maria _knew_ how to teach children how to sing. She knew where to begin. She knew her musical theory well enough, the scales and everything else she needed to know. It would be all she needed – teach them one song. The rest would follow naturally.

And she could play the guitar…

Oh well, at least she always tried to. She had the most absurd difficulty to play and sing at the same time, and she usually ended up forgetting all about playing after she had sung a few verses. Nonetheless, she had learned enough basic accords to sing with the children she taught in the convent school.

"Well, let's not lose any time. You must learn."

"But how?"

"_Let's start at the very beginning,_

_A very good place to start…_"


	27. Chapter 27

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 27**

_**Telegrams**_

_**ooo**_

_**On a windswept hill  
>by a billowing sea,<br>my destiny sits  
>and waits for me.<br>**___

_**Robert Brault**_

_**ooo**_

_**A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it. **_

_**Jean de La Fontaine**_

_**ooo**_

Maria did not recall being so exhausted before in her life. She did not recall being so pleased, or proud of herself either.

"Mission accomplished, Captain!" she exclaimed, performing a mock salute just before throwing herself in bed with a sigh of sheer contentment.

Only that the Captain had not known exactly what her _mission_ had been – certainly not one he had ordered her to accomplish in the first place. Most probably, the task in his mind would have to do with sending her back to Nonnberg as soon as he returned from Vienna – whenever that happened. The children kept telling her, again and again, that it was highly possible, they reminded her whenever she suggested that they did something they feared he would not agree. What they did not know was that it was something she never needed to fear, since she had not exactly wanted to leave the Abbey in the first place. Yes, she would not fear the high and mighty Captain von Trapp´s reaction to the _changes_ around the house, although she would be undoubtedly upset. A quick dismissal would mean she would be less than what the Reverend Mother expected of her, but she would find a way to make up for it in her mentor´s eyes… beginning with insisting upon taking her final vows as soon as possible and ending with becoming the most devoted nun who ever lived within Nonnberg´s walls. After all, it wasn´t Maria´s fault that Captain von Trapp was such an _impossible_ man to deal with. Yes, the Mother Abbess would understand…

She did a quick mental calculation, as she recalled the events since her arrival:

_Three weeks. _

_Dozens of pranks, tricks and practical jokes during the first week, until her unruly sailors finally conceded that they had been defeated. _

_One hopelessly ruined dress. _

_One ruined pair of stockings. _

_One scraped knee. _

_A bump in her forehead. _

_Sore fingers, because of too much sewing and guitar playing. _

_Several sleepless nights. _

_One broken telephone and one very sick butler. _

_One distrusting sixteen year old with a questionable choice for a boy friend._

_Three weeks until the children had managed to successfully sing their first Lied on tune…_

And…

_Seven sets of play clothes made with the old curtains that were in her room, not to mention another set, made from old colorful summer tablecloths that were going to be discarded._

It was fun to remember all that, and Maria made a mental note to write down the curious list in her journal later.

A knock on the door interrupted her reveries, and told her that she wouldn't have much time to rest. It was Frau Schmidt.

"Dear heavens, you do look tired!" the woman exclaimed, as soon as she saw the dark circles under Maria's eyes.

"Tired but happy," Maria sighed, smiling. "Did you hear the children singing this afternoon?"

"Oh yes, I did – they sounded wonderful. For a few moments it was almost like going back to the good old times," she sighed.

"Is there anything I could do for you, Frau Schmidt?"

"Yes, but looking at you know I almost regret coming here," the housekeeper said. "I had a little favor to ask of you, but it looks like you need your rest first."

Maria didn't feel it in her heart to refuse. While most of the other servants either solemnly ignored her or openly questioned her methods, sometimes quite harshly. Frau Schmidt, on the other hand, next to Frau Poppmeier had proved to be her biggest ally in the von Trapp household. They often shook their heads in disbelief whenever Maria suggested something that seemed outlandish to them, but most of the times they could not hide their amusement.

"There is no need to worry, Frau Schmidt. I´m just fine, I am used to harder work than this. You can ask me anything - you've been a great help to me these first few weeks, and I can't thank you enough. So please, tell me, how can I help you?"

The elderly housekeeper still hesitated.

"But my dear, tomorrow you'll have a day to yourself, and I would advise you to use it to rest. You'll get sick if you keep working so hard."

"Oh no no, I'm never sick," Maria assured her with a little dismissive gesture.

"Very well. I was wondering if you were planning to go to town tomorrow."

"As a matter of fact I am. I wanted to go to Nonnberg and visit my friends. I haven´t seen anybody since the day I left to come here."

"I understand. Would you mind going a little bit out of your way and stopping at the Post Office and telegraphing the Captain? I am sure that it will take only a few minutes of your time."

"The Captain? Why?"

"With Franz still sick, as you know, and the phone still not working, he hasn't had any news for about a week now. He must be concerned. I would do it myself, but my daughter is coming to visit me, and I have been spending so little time with her. You know, she is expecting."

"Really? How wonderful!"

"Yes. It will be my first grandchild."

"Well, Frau Schmidt, you be with your daughter then. I can easily manage that telegram. What should I say?"

Frau Schmidt shrugged.

"Just a few words, nothing that worries him, of course," she said, meaningfully.

"Well, that is easy. There is really _nothing_ happening here that should worry him, is there?"

"You think?" She threw Maria one of her dubious glances. "Well, never mind that, he will see the _changes_ with his own eyes when he returns, there is no need to bother him now, is there? Just to assure him that the children are well and that… his ship is running smoothly."

Well, the children were indeed well – better than ever, in fact. The ship was indeed running smoothly, but not exactly following the course set by its Captain.

When the time came, however, she knew exactly what to say.

"Have you been with Baron Eberfeld lately, Georg?" asked Max.

"Not since I´ve been back to Vienna. I´m afraid I´ve been… _otherwise occupied,_" the Captain replied, with a little wink to Elsa.

"Then you did not hear about good news. His daughter is to be married next fall. I believe we met the dashing young groom the last time we were in their house, he is an Army officer."

"Oh yes, I remember that evening."

"How could he not?" intervened Elsa. "It was the night that Baroness Eberfeld finally gave up her attempts to throw poor Pauline in Georg´s unwilling arms."

The Captain chuckled.

"That is unfair, Elsa. Pauline Eberfeld is a lovely young woman and an adequate pianist. I can only wish her and her future husband happiness. As for Baron and Baroness Eberfeld… I can´t blame them, they were only being _parents_ doing what they thought was best for their only daughter."

"_At least they were doing a far better job than I would ever do without Agathe,_" he thought grimly.

Elsa, however, was not so easily convinced.

"I wonder if you will still say the same when it is Elizabeth´s turn," she taunted.

"Liesl?" Max laughed. "He won´t have to. Pauline Eberfeld is beautiful, but Elizabeth von Trapp is a stunning young woman. Our Captain von Trapp will have a hard time chasing the hordes of suitors away."

Georg wasn´t exactly amused. Liesl had suddenly grown up before his very eyes, and lately she started to worry him. Max was right of course, she was not only beautiful she was a striking young woman. And she was his daughter, and Agathe´s. He had finally realized Liesl was not a child anymore, and he wasn´t quite sure how to deal with it. It was so much easier just to treat her like one of the young ones, but he was clever enough to realize he could not do that anymore, not without damaging his daughter´s future life.

"Yes – those useless fencing lessons we had to suffer through in the Naval Academy will finally put to good use," he retorted acidly to Max´s comments.

"Good Lord, Georg. Sometimes you are so terribly… _medieval,_" Elsa scowled him gently. He merely smiled at her. "First you hire a _nun_ to be the poor girl´s governess, and now this – challenging your daughter´s prospective husband for a duel."

"Trust me, darling, it is not the _prospective husbands _I worry about," he said grimly. "_More like telegram deliverers with questionable political beliefs…"_ he thought, but decided to keep the words to himself, at least until he dealt with the problem without making the relationship with his eldest daughter worse than it already was. It was something he would have to do soon, preferably just after he returned to Aigen – that is _after_ he took care of dismissing number twelve first.

"Excuse me, Captain von Trapp," an employer of the Sacher Hotel said politely, approaching the table. "I am terribly sorry to interrupt you, but there is a telegram for you, sir."

"Thank you," he said.

"_Sacher Hotel – Vienna – the next day…_

_To: Capt. Georg Ritter von Trapp – Hotel Sacher – Vienna_

_From: Frl. Maria Heller – Aigen-bei-Salzburg_

_Telephone dead. Children having marvelous time. No thunderstorms." _

He had to read the telegram several times to convince himself that it was true. Next, he was rendered absolutely speechless.

He did not know whether to laugh or yell in anger when he read the handful of words. Not for the first time he thought that if the gods of fate were playing tricks on him, they were indeed very cunning and cruel. A small, insignificant piece of paper symbolizing everything that was keeping him from sleeping peacefully at night: Liesl and her telegram boy, not to mention a governess who happened to be a future nun.

His face immediately became a mask, and he crumbled the piece of paper in his hands.

"Speaking of the devil," Max began, only to be silenced by a furious look.

"Max, behave, or else we will never invite you to dinner again," Elsa said, feigning offense.

"Oh, you will _always_ invite me, darling, you can´t live without me," he replied, amusedly. "You two need me desperately, remember?"

"No, we don´t, at least not as desperately as you think. As a chaperon you are practically useless, you should know that. I am sure Georg and I can find someone else who…" She stopped when she noticed Georg´s stony face.

"What is it, darling?" asked Elsa, a bit alarmed, touching his wrist.

"_There is only one way out of this storm,_" he thought. "_It begins now."_

"_This is not fair,"_ she wanted to scream.

She was now holding his hand, but it felt cold. His shoulders were unbearably tense. Once again she was desperate to know what had the power to reduce him to such as state, because if she knew that, her protective instincts would take over. She would have to do something about it.

It all happened so quickly.

Just before the conversation had shifted to the subject of Pauline Eberfeld´s upcoming wedding, Max and Georg were delighting her with tales of the few days they had spent in the Navy together. Georg had been telling her about the day he had been tempted to have Max Detweiler court-martialed. His mood had been as light as she had ever seen. For days he had not mentioned the children, or his problems with the help in the Aigen villa. He was again _her Georg_, the man she had rescued from the depths of despair. The man she hoped to be married to, and now there would be nothing that could possibly stop her. Gone were the inexplicable periods of silence and the sudden outbursts. The gentleman was back, the impeccably charming aristocrat, with his sarcastic humor at his best.

Until that telegram arrived…

Elsa shifted uncomfortably in her seat, throwing a sideways glance at Max, who was also puzzled.

"Yes, Georg, what is it now? Not Berlin again, is it?" he asked.

"No, it is not Berlin this time. It is _Aigen_," Georg replied ominously.

_Aigen_!

He must be joking!

For some reason, Elsa was _not_ relieved. If there was something that would cause that kind of reaction in the Captain were the threats hanging over his beloved Austria. Yet, at that moment, she would rather have Georg dealing with bad news about his politics than with whatever was happening in the idyllic Salzburg countryside.

"Are the children all right?" Max asked.

"Oh, the children are just fine. They are…" he paused and uncrumbled the piece of paper, reading part of its contents, "…_ having a marvelous time -_ whatever the hell that means," he finished. Next, he proceeded to burn the telegram in one of the candles on the table.

"Perhaps we should…" Elsa began to speak, but he silenced her, placing one hand over hers. It was odd, but burning that piece of paper seemed to have restored most of his light mood.

"Perhaps we should join them." Her hand tensed under his, and she entwined her fingers with his. "How do you feel about anticipating your trip to Salzburg for a few weeks?" he asked, smiling at her.

What an interesting turn of events! Oh, she would give anything to read what was written in that telegraphic message!

Elsa did not smile back. Something was still amiss. The wicked half smile was back, but there was still something odd about his sudden change of mind. Only the day before, he had actually been talking about the possibility of staying an extra two weeks in Vienna. After that, they would go to Paris for another week or two. She´d been to Paris before, more times than she could count but not once with Georg. Knowing how fond he was of the city of lights, she could not help but feel excited about the prospect. Maybe – just maybe – in the incredibly romantic and definitely more liberal atmosphere of the French capital would inspire him to forget about his intent to keep her at arm´s length.

And now this… a meaningless piece of paper ruining everything. Or almost!

"_Well, not everything_, Elsa," she told herself. "_Don´t be so pessimistic, this could be for the best. You don´t want to be his mistress in Paris or anywhere else, you want to be his wife in Salzburg. You will never have his ring on your finger if he doesn´t speak to his children first, it is just the way he is…_"

"Elsa?" he insisted with a gentle whisper.

"Isn't it too soon? Do you think it is time?" she asked, still a little unsure. "I mean, only yesterday you were speaking about postponing your return."

Georg merely nodded.

"What about Paris and London?"

"I think that both the Parisians and the Londoners will be devastated, but they´ll survive without us for another month or two. Max?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers. She gulped – something told her that this would be the closest thing to a proposal she would hear from Georg.

"Yes, I'll come along. Didn´t I just say you two needed me desperately? There is your proof."

"Quit that infernal rambling, Max. Who says I am inviting you?" Georg taunted.

"Hah, you better be inviting me. Or do you think I would miss an opportunity to enjoy your superb villa?"

"Even as our chaperon?" Georg teased.

"I need more champagne," she said breathlessly, raising her glass, which was immediately refilled by a nearby waiter.

"For you two, my dears, I am always available," Max said, offering them a toast with his glass.

Elsa hardly heard them, lost in thoughts, considering the enormity of what just happened.

_Georg was taking her to Salzburg to meet his family_.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 28**

_**Naïve**_

_**ooo**_

"_**A great pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do."**_

_**Walter Bagehot **_

_**ooo**_

_**"'Tis said of love that it sometimes goes, sometimes flies; runs with one, walks gravely with another; turns a third into ice, and sets a fourth in a flame: it wounds one, another it kills: like lightning it begins and ends in the same moment: it makes that fort yield at night which it besieged but in the morning; for there is no force able to resist it."**_

_**Elizabeth Bowen**_

_**ooo**_

Early next morning, Georg was already up and about at the reception of the Hotel Sacher, making arrangements for his departure from Vienna the following day. Max had just joined him, and they would be headed to Elsa's summer house in the outskirts of the city, for a bit of riding. She had already packed her "_little bags_", as she had called them, and it was obvious from the description she had given him the day before that the cases would not fit in his car. He had to hire another means of transportation to carry most if their luggage to the villa, so that everything – most especially Elsa's precious trunks – would already be there a couple of hours prior to their arrival.

For a near expert in logistics, it was hardly a problem. It was when he had finished organizing such details of their trip that the telephone call came from Aigen. Actually, he had been planning to ring home, it would be his next telephone call, but before announcing their upcoming arrival there were one or two things that he had to take care of...

Georg picked up the telephone at the reception.

"What the devil is going on, Franz? Didn't I specifically tell you to keep an eye on things?" Georg lashed out, as soon he heard the butler's voice in the other end of the line. "The phone in the house is not working, I had no news for over a week, and then I received a telegram sent by _a_ _governess_…" Georg listened for a couple of seconds. "Yes, I realize the phone is working _now_," he said irritably. "_Sick?_ Who was sick? What do you mean _you_ were sick?"

He covered the receiver, and spoke to Max.

"Would you mind giving me a minute, Max? This might take longer than I expected."

Max nodded, but did not leave the proximity, as Georg would have liked. Instead, curious as he was, he stood where he was, listening, fascinated.

"Never mind, Franz, I'll be back tomorrow and make things right… If the governess will be dismissed or not is my decision to make, not yours, and I shall make that decision as soon as I am home. Please, do tell Frau Schmidt to prepare guest rooms for Herrn Detweiler and Baroness Schraeder… In the East wing and in the West wing, yes… I expect the children to be in their best uniforms, waiting in line the moment we arrive. No, I am not sure yet when we will arrive _precisely,_ it will depend on.._._ What is that cacophony I hear behind you? The governess – yes, I should have imagined. What the hell is she up to at this hour? If she is there it means she is not following the children´s schedule. Where are the boys? What do you mean _with the girls? _Didn't anyone tell her that the boys had no business in the girls' rooms and vice-versa? That's against every…_ She said WHAT?_"

With that, Max rolled his eyes and walked away.

"Tell me, Georg, what is it about this one?" he asked, after Georg hung up and joined him.

"About _whom_?"

"This _someone _who is 300 kilometers away and still gets in your nerves. Your governess, the little nun."

"She is not a… Max, there are a number of people who – uh - _get in my nerves_, as you put it, especially _you_ at the moment. I assure you, the current governess of my children is _not_ one of them."

"I beg to differ, my dear friend. Whenever your number twelve is mentioned you look like you are about to have a stroke. That little vein in your temple starts to pound…" Max stopped when Georg´s scowl turned particularly deadly. "She must be quite extraordinary!" he insisted nonetheless.

The Captain retorted to bitter cynicism, and sneered.

"Yes, she is. Positively barbaric. Truly a gift from heaven," was his acid remark.

Max replied with similar irony, touching his moustache lightly.

"Then I would not keep this gift, if I were you. Heaven will keep her for itself."

"I think I will pretend I did not hear that," Georg muttered.

"Oh Georg! Don´t you realize how charming this is? Absolutely delightful!" Max exclaimed, laughing and patting his friend's back. "Of course I am yet to meet her, but… a young, virginal nun in your home taking care of your seven motherless children." The Captain rolled his eyes, and Max continued. "Unfortunately, reality is often unkind to our imagination in situations like these. In my scant experience, future cloistered nuns are seldom very attractive creatures. Tell me if I am wrong, but your new governess is most probably a shapeless, bovine female with blond braids wrapped around her head."

"O-ho, really? _Bovine and shapeless _uh? You are wrong, on all accounts."

It was impossible to hide his little secretive smile, and he could only hope that Max, who was not the most observant human being, hadn´t noticed it.

"Hah, I´m glad! You don´t need to say more, although I would be delighted to hear it."

""_Bovine and Shapeless" – Fraulein Maria?"_ he mused briefly. Hardly likely. Max Detweiler would never know about the thoughts running in his mind, but he would have a field day if he guessed. The governess´s clothes never gave any indication of it, of course, but at least she did not feel _shapeless_ at all during those mad moments when their bodies came into full contact when she fell from that tree and he caught her. Quite the contrary, she had the most…

His eyes widened, and he had to fight the urge to literally _kick himself_! There he was, at the reception of the most exclusive hotel in Vienna, speculating about a female figure. Not any ordinary female figure, but one belonging to a future nun!

"I most definitely will not! Do you even realize how inappropriate this conversation is?" He said sharply, not sure if he was talking about Max´s words or his own secret thoughts. "I will not discuss my governess´s figure with you, Max!"

"Fine! I´ll see it with my own yes the moment we arrive, I am sure. Yes, that makes it all interesting again. You, the dashing and gloriously rich _Ritter_ von Trapp! Aren´t _clichés_ positively delicious sometimes?"

"Max…" he warned.

"Agathe certainly reformed the rake that you were, but before that. Oh, the tales I could tell about you and…what was the name of that little odalisque we met when we were stationed in…?"

"Max!" Georg hissed, still in a low voice, in an increasingly menacing tone. "Let us leave the past where it belongs, shall we?"

"Fine, but going back to the subject at hand… Well, if not you or I, if not the _non bovine_ little Fräulein, I am sure _someone_ will consider the possibilities."

"You really should do something about that twisted mind of yours, Max, before it gets you into real trouble," Georg said, in a calmer voice. "Whatever _possibilities _you have in mind, I am sure Fräulein Maria is not aware of them. She was most probably brought up in a convent, for heaven´s sake. She is sheltered and terrifyingly innocent. She appears to be completely naïve."

"Naïve as in…" Max waited for Georg to complete the sentence.

"As in someone who thinks she can save the world with… what did she say? Oh yes. _Cream-colored ponies and crisp apfelstrudel,_" he grimaced. "She is so wholesome that it is utter infuriating. I would love to see her face the enemy's entire naval fleet armed with nothing but _brown paper packages tied up with strings –_ or worse - _daffodils_!" he sneered, and continued his passionate speech, while Max watched the unlikely outburst with absolute fascination. "That is _not_ the kind of influence I want for my children, I can tell you that! Such romantic notions will never prepare them adequately for life and for what is expected of them."

"Hah! So you did notice something about the woman!"

"A woman? O-ho, no! She is hardly that, she's just a… a mere slip of a girl. If you are implying that I noticed that she complete lacks the discipline and good judgment, then yes, you are absolutely right. Yes, _that_ I noticed. I would have expected for a future member of one of Austria's most respected Benedictine convents to have some good sense and behave accordingly, but _no_, I was sent their most notorious _black sheep_. As for _anything_ else, please, do keep your mind off the gutter as far as my female employees are concerned, will you?"

"But you just said quite passionately not very long ago that Fräulein _Maria_ – lovely name, by the way - was not your servant!"

"Max, I am not in the mood to discuss semantics with you…"

"Relax, my friend. I only worry about you that is all."

"You certainly don't sound like it."

"Yet, I do! I worry about you, about Elsa… and _about you and Elsa_, if you know what I mean. You don't need me to tell me how much you need her – and not only because of the children."

"Yes." Georg admitted, distractedly, his tone softening, his stance visibly relaxing.

"Allow me a word of advice them. I think you better hide the little nun from her a bit," Max said, and Georg looked at him in surprise. "Just call it an instinct."

"If you had better instincts, Max, you would not have gotten yourself almost killed in the Navy while you were on dry land." The Captain looked at him very steadily. "There is _nothing_ out of ordinary going on in Aigen. _Nothing_, except for just another governess who is completely unable to maintain a shred of discipline. The way she looks or the fact that she is quite young, innocent, and that she is going to be a nun is as meaningless as the fact that I am a sea captain. That is all there is to it, there is nothing, and I mean _absolutely nothing_ that needs hiding. Once I get back, I'll deal with it as I always do – quickly and effectively."

"If you say so…" Max said.

"Yes, I do. I say so!"

This time, finally Georg´s exclamation was strong enough to close the subject for good. But the Captain had something else to say.

"Uh… One more thing, Max."

"Yes?"

"Don't even think of telling a word about this utter nonsense to Elsa."

"Are you out of your mind? Of course I will not. I'll be the very soul of discretion."

"I hope so!"

Of course he did not believe Max Detweiler for a second!

Baroness Elsa von Schraeder did not recall who exactly had supplied such valuable piece of information. In fact, she had no idea how valuable it would be to her, how meaningful until recently, as she gazed at the man riding next to her.

Long ago, probably in the early days of her first marriage, someone had said to her that best riders made the best lovers. She had stored the information somewhere in her brain, since her dear Rufus was, by no means, a rider, let alone a good one – although she honestly never had any major complaints about him as a lover. He had his horses in the stable of his summer estate, just outside Vienna. Unlike Georg, he collected them, but not he had any particular appreciation for the animal species – to him, they were a very profitable investment, and nothing more than that. Elsa doubted her husband even know the names of half a dozen of his Andalusians.

At the moment, however, looking at Georg von Trapp riding Florian, the black stallion which was the most valuable of her husband's horses, she could not help but remembering such words of wisdom, realizing that there made sense after all. He had been rambling about the qualities that make a good rider for a good quarter of an hour now, and comparing those to the qualities that made a good seaman as well. Elsa could not help but making yet another comparison in mind.

Oh, she already knew all she wanted to know about Georg as a lover, but she still needed so much more. The definite proof of that particular theory, however, was something that Elsa would not have for a while. She knew enough about him to know he would not risk both of their reputations now that it was becoming evident to their friends and families that they were going to be married. Nevertheless, she did have a feeling, that it was not _his_ reputation that he was concerned about, but hers. Georg von Trapp did as he pleased, and would defy any rule if he thought it was the best thing to do to achieve a higher goal. He had done it before, and had been awarded medals because of it. No, it was indeed her image, her reputation he wanted to protect, and the thought was enough to make an unexpected wave of tenderness wash over her. Not only tenderness – something else too, something that she had felt that first time she saw him, in that ballroom, when he had eyes only for Agathe Whitehead.

"_I have him now,_" she thought, confidently. "_Oh, but it is so terrifying at times, wanting him like this… I only wish I could be certain that he wants me just as much as I want him…_"

Yet, as everything else, it was only a minor worry that she was sure she would eventually overcome.

Staying away from his bed until the wedding night was a minor sacrifice compared to the enormity of becoming his bride. Sure, there were still a few small obstacles – _seven _of them - and although she feared losing him would be very easy, she also had complete confidence in the extraordinary man he was.

No, she could not afford to lose him!

Elsa was never immune to any female insecurities, but all of those melted away when she was with him. Not even her husband of twenty years ever had that effect on her. Only Georg. He had seen her at her best and at her worst, she had laughed with him, but she had also cried in his shoulder when she told her about the babies she had lost. He had seen her ready to attend lavish balls with royalty, but he had also seen her with her hair down and without make up, and still thought her beautiful. With him, she could engage in highly intellectual debates or simply gossip about the high society with equal ease. Her near obsession with her appearance, with keeping up with the latest fashion trends never actually bothered him, he saw it as something _enchantingly female,_ as he told her once.

Well, she thought him beautiful too. Especially now, in a rare relaxed moment, riding Florian in a slow pace, chatting about horses and the sea, the wind blowing on his hair, ruffling it slightly. He still looked every inch the aristocrat, but at the same time there was a certain indefinable, earthy quality to him that was absent in any of the few other men she had taken as lovers. He was a man of his time, strong, confident, sophisticated, who knew how to pick his battles, fight and win them as well as he knew how to treat a woman, in the bedroom and out of it. Naturally he had his weaknesses, his imperfections, but he was aware of those all the time, and what he did to keep them for showing only made him more interesting in her eyes.

"_No, there is no other man like him,_" she concluded.

The pleasant sound of his voice brought her back from her even more pleasant reveries. It was something that he had just said that had her attention again.

"… you must be firm, but kind," he said.

"Oh, not too kind, I hope!" she exclaimed abruptly, before she could even think about what she was saying. He looked at her, quizzically, but not without a hint of amusement in his well formed, thin lips. She could not help but wonder if he had guessed what was on her mind.

"_Well, he must know, mustn't he_" she thought, decisively. "_Not that he doesn't know already. I want him and he knows it, that is the truth, plain and simple. I am not some naïve debutante who has never been in love before – I don´t think Georg would have enough patience to deal with one of those twice in his lifetime!_"

Bravely, she held his gaze, with a knowing look, and received one of his low, sexy chuckles as a response.

"Darling, as I said a few times before, I am not made of stone," she said assertively.

"What makes you think _I_ am?" he replied, teasingly.

"I know, I understand, more than you know. Please, do not make me hear all about your gentlemanly reasons to keep me at arm's length again. Let me just say that I am glad dear old Max Detweiler will be around."

"O-ho, are you? Is that why you keep giving the poor old sod those murderous glances whenever he is near?"

"Better Max, than my mother, don't you think?"

He winked at her, and she took it as an agreement.

"I still can't believe that I am really going to Aigen with you tomorrow!" she exclaimed, almost in awe.

"Why not? Is that so improbable?"

She shrugged.

"No, but the implications are enormous, you must know that. It is a bit overwhelming, even for someone like me. Let me say I will only believe it when I am standing in front of the Untersberg."

"It is just a place like any other, Elsa."

"No, it is not. It is your place, your home, and you are taking me there to meet your children. By the way, do they know…"

"… that you are coming?" he completed, meaningfully. "Yes, they do, I told them before I left that I would bring you and Max with me to visit them all."

"But that was… _weeks_ ago."

"Oh yes, that was before I formally – uh - _invited_ you!"

"What if I had refused?" He cast a knowing glance. "Oh you, and your arrogant male pride! You are devilish, you know, although utterly charming and irresistible. How dare you take me for granted like that?" She teased him, playfully. "The modern woman that I am is almost tempted to cancel my trip, just to teach you a lesson!"

"You wouldn't do that, darling, you are much too curious about my secret life, as you call it."

"It is infuriating, but you are absolutely right." She sighed. "Well, in this case we should hurry back to Vienna now, and I should buy something to take to them."

"No, no, no, no, _no_! No more presents, Elsa," he interrupted briskly. It was that tone again. Elsa gazed at him and saw it once more – that vague look in his eyes, as if her words had triggered a memory he had been fighting for dear life to repress. That lasted only for a second, because he quickly controlled himself again.

"I mean, you sent them enough gifts already, and they loved them all."

"Those silly trinkets? You must be joking, Georg! They could hardly be called _presents_!"

"You'll spoil them rotten, that is what you'll do," he said, shaking his head, and conceding her victory, because he knew her well enough by now that nothing in the world would come between Baroness Schraeder and the perfect excuse for a shopping spree.

"Well, I would love to spoil _you_ rotten, but you won't let me!" she pouted.

"Yes, but you do it anyway!"

"I have big plans for your children. Mostly for the eldest one – _Elisabeth_," she said, praying inwardly that she had gotten her name right. Georg always referred to them as a collective entity – _the children_, and rarely named them individually, but she recalled some of their names from the letters she received from Agathe, after each one of them were born. Besides, Liesl had been mentioned the night before just before he received that telegram and had the most strange, unexpected reaction to it.

"Liesl? What are you going to do with her?" he asked in obvious parental concert.

"No need to sound so protective, my dear. I will do only what her mother would have done. I am planning to launch her."

"_Launch_ her? You mean like a torpedo to an enemy ship?"

"Oh Georg, you're impossible!" she exclaimed, slapping his shoulder playfully. "I mean like a _debutante,_ in Vienna next season, you silly! In the Opera Ball, of course. Or maybe Paris, if you are feeling really generous. _Le Bal Crillon des Debutantes_ is simply sensational, that is where I made my entrance in society."

"Liesl as a _débutante_ in _Paris_? Over my dead body! She is too young," he said, dismissively. "She just turned sixteen."

"She is old enough. But we could always wait one year or two, if you insist."

"I do. I insist that we wait until she is thirty five!"

The sound of Elsa's pearly laugher echoed amidst the trees, as the couple made their way back to the stables.


	29. Chapter 29

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 29**

_**Agathe**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Love leads to present rapture,-then to pain;  
>But all through Love in time is healed again."<strong>_

_**Leland, Charles Godfrey**_

_**ooo**_

"_**What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." **_

_**William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet  
>(Juliet at II, ii) <strong>_

_**ooo**_

Maria would have sworn that she had no intention of _looking_ for that place, at least not at first. She certainly did not have that particular purpose in mind that day. She was naturally inquisitive, that was a fact, but she usually drew a line at things that were just _none of her business_. At least things that she had been repeatedly warned in a rather severe tone by a certain sea captain, that she was _not supposed to meddle with_. Maybe it was precisely for that reason that she was not able to help herself. Or maybe it was because of the children, and what they had been telling her about their father.

Captain von Trapp had been gone almost a month, since that morning, when he had left her standing in the rain, with a pitiful little vase of alpine flowers in her hands – a rejected gift to his bride. In the weeks that followed, that image of him, the look in his eyes, alternatively prickly, sad, angry and cold, had been replaced with another one, painted by the children, little by little, as their trust and confidence in her grew and they began sharing stories of happier times with her.

The father the children told her about was not the intimidating martinet who ruled his house like a warship. No, their _papa,_ as they called him in the old days, would romp around with them, and would even help them to turn his study upside down while they played Indians in a rainy day – the same room that today was off limits to everyone in the house, unless summoned there by him. He would teach them how to turn the dinner table into a make believe submarine with the help of sheets and blankets. The father they remembered fondly loved to tell them creative bedtime stories before they went to bed, tales from the sea told with such vivid imagination that even Kurt, who was much too young when his mother died, still remembered details of them. The Captain the children adored would take them to one of the many lakes around Salzburg every other Sunday, or whenever the weather was nice, to teach them basic nautical skills, because, as he would say, "_No son or daughter of mine will ever be a strange to boats or the sea_."

Although if she tried really, really, but _really_ hard, she could _almost_ picture the Captain running after his children with a garden hose in a summer day, the Baroness von Trapp remained, to Maria, a faceless mythical creature, an angel hovering over the eight of them. As hard as she tried, she could not picture her face. After three weeks in the house, she had yet to see a portrait, the children had none in their bedrooms, which she always found strange. It suddenly became important for her to know about the late Baroness, as she realized what her untimely death had done to that family, especially to the man the children once fondly called _papa_.

Whenever the Captain´s wife was mentioned by the children or by some of the other servants she sometimes talked to, she had never dared to let her curiosity about the children's mother show. She tried to convince herself that it was only natural – if she wanted to help them, she needed to know how their mother was like – something told her it was more than just that. She felt that she needed to know what she looked like, she needed to know she had indeed _existed_. It was so morbid, she thought, being so curious about the poor dead woman. Was she only curious because she was _his_ wife or the children's mother? Everything was so puzzling, and her mind was behaving in a way that was simply unknown to her.

Such was Maria's mood when she left the villa to go to Aigen that day.

Every Sunday morning, she used take the children to the village, where she attended the morning mass at the small parish church, dedicated to St. John the Baptist. The children had been reluctant to accompany her at first, but she had never forced them. She knew rebellious children well enough in order not to – she had been one herself. Soon, they were enjoying the Sunday outings to the picturesque village that was Aigen. They were even enjoying themselves during Mass - Father Wassner´s (1) sermons were anything but boring. Frau Schmidt or Frau Poppmeier would usually join them, and stay in the village afterwards, to spend the rest of the day with their families. As for Maria and the children, after the Mass was ended, if the weather was nice enough, they would walk back to the villa, climbing a few trees here and there on the way.

It was not Sunday, however. It was Tuesday. That alone gave a different light to the day. The church was not so busy with parishioners attending mass – the place was quiet, and it seemed that everyone was enjoying the warm summer day elsewhere. Maria was not wearing her habit, but one of her favorite new dresses, much more suitable for what she had planned for the day ahead. The children were not wearing their good clothes, but their play clothes made of the old curtains that used to hang in her bedroom. The only thing in common with their Sunday excursion was Frau Poppmeier, who had accompanied them because she had errands of her own in the village.

"Frau Poppmeier, would you mind if I walked around for a little bit?" Maria asked, a bit hesitantly. It was not the woman's job to watch over the children, and she had already learned the hard way that most of the staff of the Trapp villa was very particular about what everyone's place in the house was. She knew she was running the risk of asking too much of her, but the woman's answer surprised her.

"Of course. I even asked Frau Schmidt the other day when you were finally going to have some time for yourself."

"You did?"

"I did! She told me that the Captain apparently forgot to leave her any specific instructions in that respect. In fact, it was the first time such a thing has ever happened in the Trapp villa – the Captain tends to be very thorough about anything concerning the running of his household."

"But I do have every Sunday off," Maria retorted.

"Yes, but that is a courtesy of Fray Schmidt, the Captain never said a word. But oh, I am sure he would not mind if you had a little more free time now and then. God knows how hard you have been working – the children, and all that sewing and…" she lowered her voice, "… the surprise for the Baroness!"

"Oh, I don't need a whole day now, just a few moments."

"Go along, please. My doctor's appointment is not until nine thirty, so I have some time. I'll keep an eye on the little ones for you."

"Thank you, I shall not be long" Maria replied, with a smile.

"I'll take the children to the park. You can meet us there whenever you are ready."

Maria nodded, and as soon as she reassured the children that she would be with them shortly – they had planned a boat ride in the lake later that day.

"_The Captain probably did not expect me to stay here long enough to be entitled to a day off,_" she thought, shaking her head as she briskly walked away. "_Well, I showed him, didn't I?"_ The question remaining to be answered was if the Captain would like what she had to show him when he got back.

She did need a little time for herself – it had been weeks since she had been able to _breathe_ on her own. In fact there were times she thought she had forgotten how it _felt_ to be alone with her thoughts. Although she had taken the children to some of her favorite places high in the mountains, she had to admit that she missed the sense of freedom she felt whenever she was up there by herself, with her own thoughts and feelings. More than anything, she missed _singing_, just for the sake of it, at the top of her lungs, without worrying about being in tune – it was something that she could do only up there, in the mountains. That day in particular, she had woken up with a nagging feeling that _something_ was about to happen.

She walked to the place that seemed to be drawing her like a magnet. Not the nearby hill, just behind the church, but to the grave yard.

Yes, she was curious about _him _too, she could not help it, she thought, as she made her way through the trees. Curious as she had never been about any other human being before in her entire life. She was curious about his feats during the war, about the wondrous underwater boats he commanded. The bits and pieces of information she had heard from the children, from Frau Schmidt and Frau Poppmeier fascinated her. Yet, it was not only his military career that had her intrigued – it was the elusive, still faceless woman who haunted him, the one had broken his heart by dying under such tragic circumstances, the one who had changed him from the man he used to be.

She knew enough about the Captain now to draw a few conclusions of her own. At first, she found his striking good looks incompatible to the image she had in mind of a seaman, let alone a captain. It was not only his looks, although she had to admit that his appearance had overwhelmed her in the strangest possible way. His house was not what she would have expected from a sea captain either, even a military one – there was not one nautical symbol in sight. Except for the whistles and the orders, the children's sailor clothes and that 25 pages schedule of activities, it would have been hard for her to guess that Georg von Trapp´s life had anything at all to do with the sea.

Her employer was a very peculiar man, there was no denying that, and Maria had little doubt that most of the staff shared her opinion. For an aristocrat, he was an interesting mixture of an eccentric with a man who lived by the rules dictated by his status in society. Georg von Trapp was not merely a naval commander, but he had been a submarine commander. That made all the difference, she had been told. He was used to being the lord and master when in command of his U-boat. Naturally expected his household to run in the same manner, it was practically second-nature to him. Herr Schmidt, who was the housekeeper's husband and the gardener of the villa, had told Maria that while the Captain was underwater, sometimes he would not have any contact with his superior officers for a very long time. His will was the law, and he was used to being obeyed without questioning and any member of the crew who even considered daring to defy him would be court-martialed.

For that reason, he was used to act more according to his own good judgment than with what his superior officers might have expected of him. That was precisely how he earned every other one of his medals. From that, Maria concluded that he followed rules only because he chose to, but he would not hesitate in doing otherwise if he thought it was the best thing to do. Apparently – and unfortunately -, it was not what happened in her case.

_Peculiar _ indeed.

What made him different from a stereotypical seaman, however, said a lot about the man himself. Frau Schmidt had said that after his wife died, he had pushed away everything that reminded him of her, even the children. It did not take Maria too long to realize that he had done the same thing to the sea when Austria lost its Navy – for what other reason had he chosen to leave hundreds of kilometers away from the nearest port?

That was the directions her thoughts had taken when she found herself walking among the graves, marked by intricate iron crosses. She did not know exactly what she was looking for. All she had was the last name – _von Trapp_. No one had told her what the Baroness first name had been, and she never dared asking. All she knew, apart from the fact that she had married the Captain, borne him seven children and died young, was that she was English, and her grandfather had invented the torpedo. Or had it been her great-grandfather? The few times people talked about her, she was referred to as _the Captain's wife,_ or _the late Baroness_.

So distracted she was by her thoughts that she nearly stumbled upon a grave. She had not exactly expected to find a grave there, a bit apart from the others, under a ginkgo tree. Wincing, she bent down, in order to massage her bruised right toe. It was the beautiful poem she read in the epitaph that attracted her attention at first:

"_Come to us in our dreams.  
>Live in our hearts.<br>Be part of our thoughts.  
>Stay with us.<br>Beautiful lady we miss you..." _(2)

It was only instinct that told Maria she had found what she had been looking for. She had also been right about something else – she had always believed one could learn interesting things from a grave.

"_Stay with us…"_

It was so sad!

How could anyone move one after losing a loved one without willing to let go of the past, without willing the deceased one to move on as well towards a higher spiritual life?

That was what the epitaph spoke about to her. Although beautiful and poetic, it had been written by someone who refused to let the past go, and by doing that was preventing him from having a happy future. Someone like… She felt the most absurd lump in her throat – so unlike her, because Maria was not someone who cried very easily. Laughter always came naturally to her, even in the most inappropriate moments, but the same could not be said about tears. Yet, that was what she felt prickling her eyes when she read the lines below the simple, and yet poignant, little poem.

"_In memory of_

_Agathe Whitehead von Trapp_

_Beloved wife and mother."_

_Agathe…_

That was her name. It was not a good omen, Maria thought, recalling the gruesome and tragic story of the martyrdom of Saint Agatha – a story that gave her nightmares after she had heard it for the first time. Sister Berthe was particularly fond of the Sicilian martyr, and loved to use it as an example for the postulants, describing her ordeal in excruciatingly gruesome details – the story of the maiden who suffered the most terrible tortures but held on firmly to dedicate her life to God's service (3).

"_Remember Saint Agatha,_" she used to say, whenever a postulant came to her tempted by the life outside the convent walls. "_Live by her example! If you want to dedicate your life to His service, you must not allow anything, whether it is temptation or torture, to stray you from your path."_

Fortunately, Agathe von Trapp had a happier life than the woman she had been named after, even though her death had been just as tragic, for entirely different reasons.

There were some withered roses on top of the grave, placed there probably weeks before. To Maria, that was even sadder than the little poem. Most of the other tombs displayed colorful vases of flowers, but not that one. Her sadness turned to anger – was that the whole extent of the Captain's grief? Neglecting his wife's final resting place was almost as terrible as neglecting his own children. It was not that the grave itself was in a sorry state – it wasn't. On the contrary, it appeared to be well kept. However, the dead flowers depressed her. Something had to be done about it, and, at the moment, she had the power to do it. Without hesitating, Maria picked up the posy of flowers, wondering where and how she could get some fresh ones for Baroness von Trapp. Fortunately, wildflowers could be found everywhere you looked in Austria this time of the year, and in a couple of minutes, Maria had gathered a large, colorful bouquet, which she used to replace the withered one.

"_Maybe one day I'll bring the children here,_" she thought. "_That is, if the Captain allows me to stay until September_".

In any case, she vowed that, for as long as she remained in the Trapp villa, Agathe von Trapp would always have fresh flowers in her grave.

That decision made, with one of her typical shrug of her shoulders, Maria forced her mind back to happier thoughts. In the next second, she was running towards the children, who were scattered all over the green field next to the church.

_A/N: I used some information provided in the preface of Georg von Trapp´s book, _To the last salute,_ which was written by one of his granddaughters. (1) Those of you who are familiar with the real Maria's story know who father Wassner was. Here I am only using his name. I am not planning to make him a regular character in any of my stories. (2) This is not original. It's from the grave of Araceli M. Zatsepin. Source – The Epitaph Browser website. (3) Agatha, Saint, according to tradition, a noble Sicilian maiden of great beauty and wealth, who, having decided to consecrate her life to God, rejected the love of a Roman consul and as a result suffered cruel martyrdom. She is the patron saint of breast cancer patients, bell makers, firemen, nurses, rape and torture victims._


	30. Chapter 30

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 30**

_**Rising to the occasion**_

_**ooo**_

"_**Now we lament one**_

_**Who danced on a plume of words, **_

_**Sang with a fountain's panache, **_

_**Dazzled like slate roofs in sun **_

_**After rain, was flighty as birds**_

_**And alone as a mountain ash. **_

_**The ribald, inspired urchin **_

_**Leaning over the lip **_

_**Of his world, as over a rock pool **_

_**Or a lucky dip, **_

_**Found everything brilliant and virgin." **_

_**Cecil Day-Lewis**_

_**ooo**_

"The mountains are magnificent, Georg. Really magnificent," Elsa observed, as Georg drove the gleaming black automobile down a country road.

"I had them put up just for you, darling," was his gallant reply.

He was, indeed, in a good mood that day. Pleasant weather, pleasant company – unlike the thunderstorm he faced when he had driven to Vienna weeks ago, a storm raging not only outside him. That was all in the past now, where it belonged, together with all the other unpleasantries in his life.

The long drive from Vienna had one of the most enjoyable he had ever recalled. He had been silent most of the time, focused in his driving, but that did not stop him from listening to Max and Elsa gossiping gaily and laughing at their most outrageous comments.

As usual, when he was in Elsa's company he felt – _content_. It was almost – just almost – as if he did not have a care in the world. She did have the most unusual talent for making him forget everything else. Whatever expected him in Aigen seemed still far away even as the distance shortened, and he had made the decision not to brood over it until he was faced with… the _problem_. His good humor showed in his stance. His driving was relaxed, his hands rested, rather than gripped, the wheel. He had flirted shamelessly with Elsa ever since they left Vienna, hours before, much to her delight, and to the delight of Max Detweiler.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, delighted. "I am impressed enough darling, you did not need to go to such lengths. A tiny little hill here and there would do," she teased. "You know, it's been ages since I have seen the Untersberg, and it never fails to remind me of how sadly _flat_ my Vienna is."

From the back seat, Max, who had been watching them like a hawk, while toying with his thin moustache, delivered his comment.

"Oh, please, humor him, Elsa."

"Yes, please do, darling. I´m devastated by your lack of appreciation," he taunted.

"After all, even if it's to a height of ten thousand feet, Georg always believes in _rising_ to the occasion," Max changed.

His barely suppressed chuckle did not go unnoticed by Elsa, and he sensed immediately that she too had caught the double meaning of the impresario's words. The innuendo was rather obvious, but Georg had refrained himself from commenting upon it, as he would have done in any other occasion. He did not even comment on the fact that the Untersberg, majestic as it was, was not even close ten thousand feet, however. As Elsa opened her mind to speak, he cast a warning glance.

"_Do not provoke him,_" his eyes told her, and she was clever enough to catch the message.

"Unless the jokes improve, Max, I'm taking back my invitation," he warned, playfully but sternly.

"You didn't invite me to your villa. I invited myself, remember? You just gave me the perfect opportunity and I wasted no time in taking it. How could I resist?"

"Naturally," commented Elsa, amused by the men's bickering. "Who would ever dream of blaming you, dear Max?"

Max continued his defense.

"You both needed a chaperone and I needed a place to stay where the cuisine is superb, the wine cellar unexcelled and the price – uh - perfect."

"Max, you _are_ outrageous," said Elsa, now laughing.

"Not at all. I'm a very charming sponge."

"Now _that_ is the most perfect definition of you that I have ever heard," Georg said. "I must keep it in mind, to use it again in the future."

At some point during the drive, they were able to see a Monastery up on the hill. Beautiful voices were heard, rising in a Gregorian chant.

"Listen," said Max.

"That's the Klopmann Monastery Choir," Georg informed them, tilting his head towards the direction of the chants.

"They're good! Very good," was Max's professional opinion. "Impressive! I must explore this territory in the next few days. Somewhere a hungry little singing group is waiting for Max Detweiler to pluck it out of obscurity and make it famous at the Salzburg Folk Festival."

Georg shook his head, and delivered cynically:

"They get the fame, you get the money."

"It is unfair, I admit, it but someday that'll be changed. I shall get the fame, too."

Elsa laughed, and for a moment the sound was nearly muffled by the laughter and excited cries from a group of children. There was a grove of trees alongside the road, and it appeared that they had climbed on top of them. A few dangling arms and legs could be seen among the branches. They also appeared to be wearing similar clothes, at least clothes made of the same flowery fabric.

"Good heavens, what's this?" Elsa exclaimed, a bit shocked.

"Oh, it's nothing, just some local urchins," Georg said, dismissively, still in the same nonchalant tone.

That lasted for a fraction of a second. What he had seen did not fully register in his mind until after he had driven past the noisy _urchins_. His eyes widened, his hands tightened on the wheel.

She could not possibly… she would not _dare_!

_Would she?_

Elsa and Max were back to their friendly bickering, but he hardly paid any attention to it anymore. Desperately, he tried to recapture the scene that had flashed before his eyes moments earlier. It was true that he was known to be a very observant man, but it was hard to be one and notice details when one never considered that there would be details to be noticed in the first place.

Urchins climbing trees… wearing clothes that bore an uncanny resemblance with the curtains that used to hang in the governess´s bedroom…

Laughter…

He remembered the last time he had seen anyone on top of a tree, the last time he had heard children laughing…

_It could not be! _

He was trying to raise his children so that in the future they would be ready and prepared to occupy a role in society worthy of von Trapp family name, and of the Whitehead name as well. They were meant to be leaders, diplomats, they were destined to excel in whatever they chose to do. They would not accomplish any of that successfully if they spent their idle time climbing trees and yelling like a wild Mongolian horde…

Although they had been completely inadequate for the task, eleven governesses before _her_ seemed to have no problem acknowledging and accepting the fact that his children needed to be properly educated, that they needed to learn how to conduct themselves with decorum at all times. But no no, not _her,_ however. Why did she have to be the exception to every single rule he could think of? What was this insane need that seemed to drive that tomboy, to rebel against every rule?

No, no, no. She would not dare…

Would she?

"Would you mind, darling?"

Georg looked at Elsa uncertainly.

To be absolutely honest _yes,_ he would mind, and very much indeed. Yet, he did not have the heart to refuse her.

They were just driving past St. Baptist Church in Aigen when she had made her request. He did not know what to say, and that was not something that usually happened to him, something he was not used to. He would have to drive past the place in any case, so not even a detour would be needed.

But still…

It was not that he was unable to say _no_ to her, it was the nature of her request. It was simple, reasonable request, even though, in Elsa´s case, he had a nagging feeling that she was putting him through another test, one that he was determined _not_ to fail now that he had made up his mind about their future together.

Sensing his brief hesitation, she spoke again.

"I know, this won´t make any difference. Not to her, but to me it will. I am not the kind of person to break a promise, darling Georg. And I was at fault with dear Agathe, for staying away when she needed me the most."

"You were not at fault, Elsa, you had your own very sick husband to take care of. You were needed elsewhere. As for…" he stumbled upon her name. "She had me, the children, and the best doctors I could find. All that could be done for her was done. Nothing worked. I honestly doubt that you being there would have changed the outcome."

"I know that. Nevertheless I promised myself that the first thing I would do when I arrived here would be to bring flowers to her grave. Pink roses, you know. Her favorites."

"Pink roses for her, red roses for you, as I remember," he smiled sadly. Yes, he did not need to be reminded of that. Those were the flowers they had been wearing at that ball in Fiume long ago.

"I know, I know, it may be too much to ask of you…" she began, tentatively.

"A promise is a promise," he completed, and she looked at him a little bewildered. "Yes, you heard me well. It is a matter of honor. I would never dream of being the cause of you or anyone else breaking one, especially to my wife."

Only weeks ago, he would have denied her request, without the slightest hesitation, regardless of any promise she might have made, regardless of his feelings for her, or the plans he had made for their future together. If Elsa merely wanted to test him, he would simply give her a piece of his mind and tell her how much he loathed being manipulated. He wouldn't even want to hear about her motives. But that was then, and this was now…

_What had changed?_

He had not visited Agathe´s grave for months until that rainy morning, before he left for Vienna. He had been in such a hurry to leave Aigen, and yet he had found himself there, under the pouring rain placing her favorite pink roses on top of her grave. The truth that he had always refused to acknowledge was that, on that occasion, he had not been running away from her memory, on the contrary: he had been running _towards_ her memory, to banish other disturbing thoughts that stubbornly lingered in his mind. He had run to Agathe´s ghost, and not from it. For the first time he had used his grief as an armor, for his own protection – and it had worked beautifully. It made him wonder for how long he had been doing that without realizing.

"It's just a grave, Elsa," he said, trying to sound calm and reassuring. "Just a place. It is not - not _her_. She is not there anymore."

His acquiescence had surprised her, it was obvious to him by the look of surprise in her eyes.

"Are you sure you won't mind, darling?"

A casual shrug was his answer.

As he had said – Agathe was not there. It would be easier to bear the small ordeal that Elsa had demanded of him if he thought that way. He was still able to sense her in the attic, where he kept most of her personal belongings. Her clothes still smelled of her. He could feel her in the empty, dusty ballroom, when he opened a book from the library and found a note on the bottom of a page written in her neat handwriting. Essentially, he could sense her presence in every single place where they had walked together, in every room he had made love to her. The graveyard, on the other hand, always was, curiously enough, quite harmless to him, simply because _he had never been there with her_.

"Would that be all right with you, Max?" he asked, tilting his head slightly towards the back of the car.

"Oh sure, your wish is my command, Captain!" was the ironic reply. "As long as I can stay in the car, trying not to drown myself in too much fresh air! Honestly, I am starting to fear for my poor smoke filled lungs!"

"You are always so accommodating, aren't you?" Georg said, parking the car in front of a lower vendor, so that Elsa could get her flowers – the largest and most expensive basket of pink rosebuds that she could find.

"Let me carry that for you, darling," he said, gentlemanly, as they walked towards the grave, taking the flowers from her hand.

The sight that greeted him when he approached the solitary ginkgo tree was not one he had expected to see. At most, he hoped to find the remains of the roses he had left there weeks ago, now withered and dead. Instead, there were local, bright and colorful wild flowers, randomly arranged. His wife may be dead, but her resting place appeared to be pulsing with so much… _life_.

"What the devil is _that_?" he exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that he was standing in hallowed ground.

"Oh, how sweet!" exclaimed Elsa, gaily. "Somebody else left her fresh flowers."

"Yes, I can see that, but _who_?" Georg asked gravely.

It was not the flowers _per se_ that had surprised him. He had found flowers in her grave before. Agathe was loved in that community, and known as a charitable woman, not to mention as a patron of the arts. The church of St. Baptist would not have been completely restored without Agathe´s efforts to raise enough money, and donating a sizeable amount herself.

"Certainly the children," suggested Elsa.

"No, not the children. They would not come here without permission – my permission…"

"_W__ouldn't they?_ He asked himself in thought. No, they wouldn´t, unless, of course, _she_ had anything to do with it.

Elsa, however, misunderstood his remark. "Of course not, what I was thinking? Common, ordinary _wild flowers?_ Your children would certainly have left her roses or lilies. Those are practically _weeds_. Look, they are all over the place! What a ghastly mess they have made!"

He knelt down next to the grave and examined the colorful flowers, carefully. They were not neatly arranged, far from it. They looked like they were picked in haste and at random, and left there. Whoever had been responsible for the gesture had not even tied them together, and now, because of the light wind that was blowing, they were scattered all over the top of the grave in a colorful blanket. They also appeared fresh, and since wild flowers withered as soon as they were picked, he could only guess that whoever had left them there, had done it scarcely one hour ago.

"It's not the flowers, Elsa. The children only come here occasionally, and at least once every year, on the day of her birthday. Unless…" His hands tightened to fists. He knew only one person who might have placed the flowers in that particular careless manner.

"Unless what, darling."

"Never mind," he hissed.

It had to be her. Deep inside, he _knew_ it had been her, just as he knew it had been her on top of those trees with _his children_.

"What is it, Georg?" Elsa asked, concerned and alarmed at his somber expression.

He barely heard her, for he was still brooding. The question remaining to be answered was:

"_Why had she done it? Had the children been with her?"_

It was certainly not something he would expect from a governess. The previous ones had never done anything similar. They had never _dared_ to interfere that much in such private matters. It was simply too much. The tree climbing he could deal with, but this… It was _unforgivable_.

Still kneeling on the floor, he silently gathered the wild flowers back together, arranging them back in a bouquet, while Elsa laid her expensive roses neatly next to the elaborate iron cross.

"What are you going to do with those?" Elsa asked. The contrast between the naturally grown flowers and the cultivated roses that she had bought was staggering. "You could just throw them away, don't you think? As I said, they are practically weeds."

The suggestion was so typical of Elsa, so he did not feel offended by it. Nevertheless, the thought of throwing the – so he believed – painstakingly gathered wild flowers who were certainly an offense to Baroness Schraeder´s sophisticated sense of aesthetics into the nearest trash bin did not appeal to him at all.

"No, I don't think I can do that." Having said that, he carefully tied bound the bouquet together, using the stem of one of the flowers, so that they were not scattered by the wind again.

"You are right, as always. Don't you hate it how insensitive I can be at times?" He smiled. "Well, I do. Forgive me, darling. The flowers are Agathe´s, not ours."

"_How could things be so different, and equally beautiful?_" he thought, philosophically, comparing the wild flowers to the elegant rosebuds.

The three women occupying his thoughts were like three sides of a triangle, as different as any three women could be.

Agathe, the perfect wife and mother.

Elsa, the perfect Baroness, whose beauty and social skills were unrivalled.

Agathe, sweet, loving, witty, but shy.

Elsa, undoubtedly witty, but lacking a single shy bone in her body.

Agathe, the pink rose.

Elsa, the red rose.

And on the third vertex, the perfect…

_Edelweiss…_

"_Flowers, not women,_" his mind screamed, annoyed by the fact that every other thought seemed to lead him back to the tomboy who was his children's governess. Why was he even mentally comparing her to the two most important women in his life? She was a mere governess, for heaven's sake!

"Just… finish your prayers and let us go home, Elsa. I think I have postponed my arrival long enough," he said bitterly.


	31. Chapter 31

_**A/N: I´m back once more... Real life kept me from the fan fiction world, but today I found myself writing again. The muses are finally waking up! The best way to start and to get some inspiration is to continue publishing the final chapter of the Chronicles. There are 10 more to go, and I hope you enjoy them all.**_

_**It´s great to be back!**_

**ooooooo**

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 31**

_**Winds of change**_

**ooo**

"_**Grief has limits, whereas apprehension has none. For we grieve only for what we know has happened, but we fear all that possibly may happen."**_

**_Pliny the Elder_**

**_ooo_**

"_**The human heart has hidden treasures,  
>In secret kept, in silence sealed;<br>The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,  
>Whose charms were broken if revealed."<strong>_

**Charlotte Bronte **

**ooo**

She had promised a boat ride to the children – to Friedrich, more specifically -, and they would have it, even if she knew, deep inside that their formidable father would certainly not approve of it. Moreover, she also knew that the transgression would be reported to _him_ within the hour, as soon as Franz learned about it, now that the communication with Vienna was fully re-established. It did not matter, her mind was made up. A promise was a promise.

"Fräulein, there is no going back now," Friedrich had said, as they boarded the rowboat.

"How did you know I was going to say anything?" Maria had asked, surprised. Apparently, the boy had inherited his father's telepathic talents

"It's easy – you have a funny look in your face."

"What look, Louisa?" She had no idea that she could be so transparent, but then never before in her life she had to work to hide her emotions.

"I don´t know, you look… _jumpy. _Like if you were expecting someone to spook you at any minute."

"Well, if you children must know," she shrugged. "I don't intend to break my promise to you all. It's just that… ehm…" she thought for a moment, unsure of what she would say next. Not being completely honest was also a novel experience for her.

"What? Are you afraid?" Louisa had challenged.

"We won´t throw you in the water if that is what you fear, Fräulein," Kurt reassured. "We did that with Fräulein Helga, and it was _not_ fun."

"What?" Maria shrieked in alarm.

"And there was Fräulein Josephine, of course, but we did not try to drown her – she threw herself in the lake instead."

Maria let out a loud moan, thinking that perhaps what the children had done to her had been nothing compared to what some of their previous governesses had suffered. Driving a poor governess to suicide, for pity´s sake! No wonder the Captain was in such a state when she met him, the man probably had enough of it all!

"Kurt, stop that, you are only making everything worse, just see the look on her face!" Brigitta then turned to her. "Don´t worry, Fräulein Maria, Fräulein Helga was not harmed, she was a very good swimmer. She did not catch a fever either because it was a very warm day last summer, just like today. As for poor Fräulein Josephine, she tried to drown herself, but not because of us. She was lovesick, she was in love with the equerry and he was not interested in marrying her at all. Neither of them would not have drowned anyway, the lake is merely a few feet deep." (1)

"Oh, thank you for the valuable information, Brigitta. I think…"

"Besides, what Kurt is really sorry about are the four weeks without desert we missed," said Friedrich, poking his brother on the shoulder.

Maria still looked at them dubiously.

"Didn´t we promise you? No more tricks, we swear!"

"Yes, you did and no, I am not – erhm - _afraid_," she began, sounding slightly offended.

_Afraid _of falling into a shallow lake? Her? Furthermore, it would take more than seven children and a sea captain to drive her to commit the ultimate sin of taking her own life.

The children, however, had mistaken the true reason for her apparent uneasiness.

"There is no need to worry, we are very good swimmers too. Marta and Gretl haven't learned yet, but we can help them if they need us!"

This time, she could not help it, she had to be honest.

"It is not the water, Liesl, I…"

"Besides, you must remember that our father was a sea captain, and a good one."

"Surely I know that by now, Brigitta, and I am…"

"We used to go sailing every summer in the old days," Friedrich had said – he had been the one who had asked for the boat ride in the first place. "He taught us well. Liesl is quite good too, and so is Louisa."

"All right – if we must, we must!" Maria had exclaimed gaily, giving up in her attempts to explain herself to the children, at least tell them that she was an excellent swimmer herself. Nevertheless, if they wanted to believe that she was afraid of drowning, let them! It might be easier for them do understand than the truth about her deeper feelings, a truth she was having a difficult time understanding herself.

"Just may take the place by the bow, Fräulein. Liesl and I will stay aft and do the hard work."

"All right, Captain Friedrich von Trapp," Maria saluted him. "Just – erhm - point me to the bow, please."

"We _are_ in trouble, she doesn't even know where the bow is," giggled Louisa.

"I'm sorry, Fräulein. Friedrich though that you would probably know aft from bow after reading father's instructions."

"Hmmm. There wasn't a word about that in any of the twenty-five pages, Liesl" she said, accommodating herself in the front part of the rowboat. "Not that I remember!"

"Only twenty-five? You were lucky!"

"Really? Why is that?"

"Fräulein Katherine complained about 100 pages. Father must be slacking," said Louisa, laughing.

"I don't want Friedrich to be the Captain, he is _always_ the Captain and he is a mean one when he wants to. You'll be our Captain today, Fräulein Maria!"

"Yes, Marta is right. You'll be Captain Fräulein Maria!" Gretl giggled.

"Hmm!" Maria muttered, not sure she had the required qualities for being a naval commander, even of such a small boat. Her employer certainly would have agreed with her reluctance.

"Marta, do you really think I would be a good Captain if I don't even know aft from bow, or portside from starboard? Your father would not be happy if the boat turned over, no matter how fun that would be," she said, accommodating herself on the boat, facing the children.

"Not to worry, Fräulein. Father is in Vienna, and who knows when he will be coming back," Louisa had said. "It would certainly be _very_ unlucky of us if he returned today, wouldn't it?"

"_Oh please, Lord, don't let it happen,_" she prayed silently, looking heavenward – she had just realized that Louisa might have tempted fate with her comment.

The lake was so calm and placid that it looked like a mirror as the rowboat cut through it, breaking its perfection. Inside it, Maria tried not to worry too much, but she felt a little apprehensive. Well, more than a little actually. She was singing with the children, going through scales and voice exercises and trying her best to make them fun for them, and yet, probably for the first time since her arrival, her mind and her heart were not completely into it.

The children sensed it, of course. They were wrong about her motives, but they did realize that was something was amiss. It was simply amazing how perceptive, how sensitive they could be. It was all too obvious to everyone who spent only a few hours in their company…

"Well, not perhaps to their own father," she reminded herself, distastefully. But then, as far as she knew, he never spent _hours_ in their company anymore, only a few minutes at a time.

Although she was used to working with children at the orphanage, it was the first time in her life Maria had the opportunity to be around them all day long, and she was learning so much from it. Sometimes she only wished that she would have to live in a cloister after taking her vows, because the truth that, if she were given a choice about that, she would rather continue working with the little ones at the orphanage. The experience with the von Trapp children was teaching her too much; it would be such a change that her newly acquired knowledge would be wasted in the future.

"_The Reverend Mother is so wise, perhaps she could be convinced to "bend the rules" a little bit in my case_," she shrugged, optimistically.

She gave her charges full attention again. They were so protective of each other that it was endearing.

"_Well, they only have each other,_" she considered.

She needn´t have worried about the fact that Marta and Gretl hadn´t learn how to swim yet, their older brothers and sisters were watching them like a mother cat caring for her kittens. Brigitta had both of her arms around them, and sometimes she held them so tightly that the little ones complained.

No, the children had been wrong. Maria did not fear drowning, nor did she fear that one of the little ones would fall in the water. She had grown up surrounded by mountain lakes in Tyrol, and she would take full advantage of the rare warm summer days to go swimming. It was a wonder that she had not drowned when she was little, because she had learned how to swim on her own, without anybody´s help. And she had learned well, because if there was one thing Maria prided herself in was that she was indeed a good swimmer. If any of them fell, she would be at their side so quickly there would not be time for them to be scared.

No, what troubled her was something much more elusive…

She never believed himself to be the kind of person to have that magical "_sixth sense_" people sometimes commented about – especially Frau Schmidt who seemed to have a strange fascination with what she called "_the occult_". On the contrary, she always saw herself as essentially practical and very, very realistic. For that reason only she did not allow herself to be carried away by the sense of foreboding that gripped her ever since she woke up that morning, feelings that became stronger when she found the late Baroness von Trapp´s grave in the little cemetery by St. Baptist´s Church.

"_The grave yard - that must be the reason,_" she tried to convince herself. "_That grave, the poem engraved in it, everything else you heard about Baroness von Trapp… all that combined to what her death did to her husband, and consequently to her children as well. It became simply too… _real_. Agathe von Trapp is not an ethereal fairy tale character envisioned by her children and her husband, she existed. She had slept in that house, in the same master bedroom that the Captain still occupied. She had strolled in the gardens surrounding it, waltzed with her husband in the ballroom and played with her children in the nursery. Her death left a man broken-hearted, everyone else who knew her is still in mourning. Such dark, heavy atmosphere would take its toll one you one of these days, and today it finally happened." _She sighed deeply.

"We've been so good in keeping up with the Captain´s schedule – most of the times, at least. Wouldn´t it be funny if he caught us _exactly_ when we are doing something he hadn't predicted?" Liesl winked, distracting Maria from her not so pleasant reveries.

"That would make him mad!" exclaimed Kurt. "Doesn't that make you wish he stayed in Vienna a bit longer, Fräulein?"

"Oh no, quite the contrary," Maria tried to reassure them. "You made so much progress with your singing and I am looking forward to seeing your father's reaction."

"Are you?"

"I am Brigitta, I really am!" she had answered Maria, honestly. "Although…"

"What? Don´t you think we are ready yet?"

"No, you are more than ready, but I think we should tell him… ahem… _little by little_. Yes, that is the trick, I should think. If we tell him all at once, it might overwhelm him and he might not react well… We must give him time to… digest things. Oh, why is it now? Why the sad faces? Don´t you miss your father?"

"Of course we miss him, but he is not the same anymore."

"Yes. Whenever he leaves we always hope he will go back to what he was when he returns, but it never happens," Brigitta said forlornly.

Maria´s heart ached for the children.

"Well, I am sure your singing will help. Once he hears you, he will realize once again how wonderful his sons and daughters are, and I am sure he will think twice before leaving you alone again."

"But it is so difficult, Fräulein!"

"Ahem – _difficult?_" For a second, she did not know what to say. Were they talking about their complicated relationship with their father of about their music lessons? Neither were easy, she had to admit. "Why difficult, Louisa?"

"Because it is not opening our mouths and sing. We had to be in tune, there is the tempo to worry about, and all those different voices you want us to do. It can be all very complicated."

"Yes, I know. It would not be so much fun if it were very easy, would it? You are all doing a wonderful job, you should be proud. I am sure your father will be too when he hears you. Meanwhile…"

"Yes?"

"We practice!" Maria exclaimed happily, while the boat headed towards the middle of the lake.

"Remember, what we must do is to have fun with the notes. Once they become your friends, you´ll know when you sing a wrong one. They will not like it, it will sound awful, painful to your ears, and you´ll know what you did wrong and how to fix it…"

Nevertheless, her charges did not look at all convinced.

"Very well then, let us do something else. Let us just… sing, without worrying about the pitch or the tempo. We can do that, can´t we?"

This time, the children agreed wholeheartedly. Miraculously, singing in that carefree manner did wonders to Maria´s mood. She no longer felt apprehensive, all gloomy thoughts were forgotten – just as it happened whenever she used to run to her beloved mountains…

_A/N: (1) Once again, I am using an idea from the draft of "maxisback"´s unwritten story, "The 11 Governesses"._


	32. Chapter 32

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 32**

_**Suspicious**_

**ooo**

"_**Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind."**_

_**William Shakespeare **_

**ooo**

"_**We are always paid for our suspicion by finding what we suspect." **_

_**Henry David Thoreau**_

**ooo**

Captain Georg _Ritter _von Trapp quickly scanned the entrance hall of his house, as soon as he crossed the front door.

There were no noticeable changes, and yet _something_ was different. Something elusive, and yet he hardly had any doubt about the ultimate source of it – at least about _who_ was responsible for it. The lighting was exactly the same, not a piece of furniture had been moved, and all the pictures on the walls and the paintings were in their right places. The room was as spotless as it had been when he had left it, weeks ago. And yet, it no longer felt empty and cold, and much to his annoyance, it wasn't at all a bad feeling. His keen eyes found the source of that slight discomfort – a vase of flowers next to the Murano glass mirror.

_Flowers_.

More than that - _Austrian wild flowers…_

He grimaced in distaste.

The simple flowers alone were enough to make the room more appealing, just as they had lightened the heavy air surrounding Agathe´s grave in a way that even Elsa had sensed it. Yet, he did not like them at all. After his wife died, they had been forbidden inside the house, as everything else that vaguely reminded him of her. She used to love flowers so much that the house was always overflowing with them. He used to joke by saying that one day he might have to move out to make room for her roses.

Now the new governess seemed to have a _thing_ for flowers as well, with a particular fondness for _daffodils,_ if he remembered correctly. Yes, that is what it was, the unsuspecting Persephone! The memories of his musings on the night of her arrival made him utter a low groan. If the Greek Goddess was half as infuriating as his governess, Hades would just leave her where she was in her flowery meadow, instead of carrying her with him. Or, at the very least, he would send her away as soon as she insisted upon decorating the underworld with her silly flowers.

First she'd had the audacity of practically ordering him to carry an absurd vase of Edelweiss with him to Vienna. As if it weren't enough, she had placed those wild flowers at Agathe´s grave.

"What is it with that silly little twit and wild flowers?" he wondered. "What else is she up to?" he asked himself, not realizing he had muttered the words aloud until it was too late.

"What is it, darling?" Elsa asked, coming by his side and placing a hand in his arm. He covered her hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Oh my, you do look suspicious!"

"Really? I am not, I assure you. I am merely… cautious."

"Then who, may I ask, is the "_silly twit"_ and why are you asking yourself "_what is she up to_"?"

"_She really misses nothing, doesn´t she?_" he thought, humorously.

"Mmm? The "_silly twit_" - oh, no one of any importance, darling, just one the servants who has been slacking lately. I was just – uh – talking to myself." He looked around. "Where is Max? He seems to have scurried away as soon as we crossed the door."

"I am not complaining. Are you?" she teased.

"Elsa…" he chuckled.

"Oh, you know Max – probably making himself completely at home. He is already on the telephone acting like the cunning impresario. I think he muttered something about a singing group and how much he wanted to throttle Sasha Petrie, whoever the man is."

Behind them, they heard the butler, clearing his throat, discreetly announcing his presence.

"_I wonder how long he has been standing there, watching and listening_," Georg wondered.

"Excuse me, Captain. Is everything in order?" Franz asked.

"Yes, apparently so." Quickly, he made up his mind not to complain about the flowers, at least not immediately. After all, Elsa deserved them; there should be a feminine touch while she was in the house. He would only make sure that cultivated arrangements were placed in all rooms, not those foolish _weeds_, as Elsa herself had called them earlier. But that was something that Frau Schmidt should take care of, not Franz.

The butler bowed with his usual polite stiffness and was about to leave when Georg called.

"Franz?"

"Yes Captain?"

"You do not happen to know where the children are, do you?"

"They are - ehm -_ elsewhere,_ sir," was the enigmatic answer, and Georg had merely raised his eyebrows in reaction.

"Hah! _Elsewhere. _Mmm… I see_. _Did you tell anyone I was coming?" he asked briskly.

"No, I have not, just as you requested, Captain" replied Franz, before he silently left.

It was a fact that he had not informed the children – and their governess - about the exact time of his arrival in advance. He had done it on purpose – he wanted the element of surprise in his favor, as much as possible. However, their luggage had arrived four hours before, and he guessed they should at least _know_ that he was on the way. That meant that they had been out of the house, roaming around God knows where, for at least _four hours_. None of the children's scheduled activities determined that they should be outside for that long.

What had they been doing all this time? What had that black sheep of a governess been doing with his children all day and _outside the grounds of the villa_? Climbing trees, and who knows what other ludicrous and completely inadequate activities. He shuddered to think what other little surprises that spitfire had in store for him.

He turned his gaze to Elsa, who was watching him with a look in her eyes that could only be described as vaguely apprehensive.

"Now it is you who looks like the very heart and soul of suspicion," he could not resist provoking her. "What is it darling?" he asked her, trying to sound as if everything was exactly as it should be.

"Oh, are you asking _me_? Because it is you who look like you wanted to wring someone's neck. Positively piratical! I don´t think a mere reckless servant would have such an effect upon you." He did not answer, and she shrugged. "Well, as long as the neck you want is not mine!"

"Your beautiful neck is safe from my wrath, that I can assure you. I was just wondering what my children were up to."

"I am sure they are all right," said Elsa with a dismissive gesture. He frowned at her. "They are your children, aren't they? Darling, I am sure they can take good care of themselves."

The frown deepened – yes, they were most definitely _his_ children, which was precisely the problem. They were his children and they were in the company of a notorious tree climbing, nature fanatic nun in training known in his mind as _The Black Sheep of Nonnberg…_

Elsa's voice interrupted his brooding once more.

"Well, I think I'll go upstairs and freshen up now. I must be presentable for when I meet your little darlings."

"Welcome home, Captain!" greeted Frau Schmidt, clasping her hands, as she entered the room.

"Frau Schmidt!" Georg greeted his housekeeper warmly, inquiring about the health of her elderly husband after introducing her to Elsa, as politeness demanded. Afterwards, not wishing that Elsa noticed his distress, he carefully made the usual inquiries about the children. He did not inquire about the governess. The woman assured him that everything was _as it should be_, and he sensed that she was not being completely truthful. There was a sly look in her eyes that he found slightly distressing.

It was obvious – the fact that things were as they should be did not mean that they were as _he_ thought they should be.

The question _where are the children_ burned in his lips, but he did not wish to ask it again, not another employee – at least not in front of Elsa.

The Baroness, as usual, sensed the change in his humor.

"Why don't you show me the grounds first, darling. It looks like the little ones won't be back so soon. It is such a beautiful day; they are probably enjoying it to the fullest. I certainly cannot blame them, and I know that, in your heart, neither can you. Why don't we do the same? I long so much to be outside!"

He smiled down at her.

"Are you sure you aren't too tired? It was a long journey and you are not used to it. Wouldn't you like to rest before dinner?"

"Nonsense! I feel like stretching my poor legs after being confined to that car for so many hours. And I am just _dying _to see your horses," she said.

"Frau Schmidt will show you to your room. You can change and I'll give you the _grand tour._"

Refreshed and changed, Georg was pacing around that same hallway, waiting for Elsa. That was a female trait he would never be able to understand – why did women need so much time to change. All it had taken him was fifteen minutes to change from his traveling clothes in to the light tan suit he now wore, take hold of his riding crop – since they would be headed towards the stables – and walk back downstairs again. But then he remembered that Elsa hated to show herself in public unless she looked her very best, and that meant not only her clothes, but hair and makeup as well.

Now, there he was, and there was still no sigh of Elsa – or the children either. While he paced, a bit impatiently, his eyes inevitably targeted the doors that led to the ballroom. They were slightly ajar, just as they had been that day, weeks before, when number twelve had made her first appearance in the Trapp Villa. As he had done that day, he marched resolutely towards the room.

There had been subtle – no, not _quite_ so subtle - signs of her presence everywhere in the house, with the exception of his bedroom, of course, obviously off limits to all members of the staff, except for Frau Poppmeier, who did the cleaning. He had actually sighed in relief when he walked into the most private of his domains and realized that everything looked and smelled the same. His study had not been touched either.

What about the ballroom?

What had she _done_ there?

The door was slightly ajar – did that mean he would again find her there, where she clearly was not supposed to be? That would be the last drop, and, if true, the new governess would be on her way back to the Abbey before Elsa had a chance to finish her toilette.

"That will be the end of it, Fräulein!" he hissed.

Resolutely, he marched towards the ballroom and flung the door open, just as he had done that day, bracing himself not only for what he would find, but also for the wave of memories that would certainly hit him. Like the previous time, the sound resonated in the entire house.

Instead of the bittersweet memories of his beloved, the picture that first came to his mind was one of a tomboy, wearing a dowdy gray dress and an old leather hat, attempting a solitary waltz. Next there was the surprise of finding the ballroom just as he had left – silent, sadly neglected and covered with a thick layer of dust.

His sucked in his breath. He also felt absurdly… _disappointed_.

"Now what?" asked Elsa behind him. He turned around to face her – she was refreshed and perfumed, wearing another superb creation from her Vienna couturier that enhanced her elegant figure perfectly. His eyes widened in typical male appreciation.

"Nothing, except that you _are_ a vision, my darling!" he exclaimed, smiling at her.

His comment made her glow, and he could almost swear there was the slight hint of a blush in her cheeks. She had, in fact, admitted to him quite recently that he was the only man on earth who ever had been able to make her _almost_ blush.

"So are you, I should say," she said, returning his appraising look with one of her own. She peered inside the ballroom. "Good Lord, what happened to this place?"

"I'm afraid this room has been neglected for several years! Honestly, I do not know what to do about it." He knocked on the doors, softly. "Those blasted doors won't stay closed as they are supposed to. I must ask Herr Schmidt to fix them."

"You don't know what to do about it?" Walking past him, Elsa entered the room. "Look at those mirrors, those wonderful crystal chandeliers… This ballroom makes my little one in Vienna look like… like a cheap tavern." She walked towards him. "Goodness, Georg, this is worthy Versailles! It´s perfect for what I have in mind while I am here. Darling, if we could just…"

"No!"

"Oh, you _must_ let me fix it!"

"Fix it? I did not know you had a penchant for interior decorating, Elsa!" he exclaimed scathingly.

She shrugged, apparently unaffected by his bitter sarcasm.

"With my magical touch, not to mention my impeccable good taste, I could turn this ballroom into the life and soul of Salzburg, as I heard it once was!"

"_No, Elsa, you are wrong. It was not this room, it was Agathe. She was this place's life and soul…"_ he thought, sadly.

"Tell me, do you still have that piano of yours? Because if you do, why is it not here? It _belongs_ here."

That was the last drop.

"I have no idea what you are thinking, but whatever it is, it is absolutely _out of the question_," he said, in a very terse, definite tone. "As I said, I have not decided yet what to do about this room, but I certainly will not allow it to be sullied by the remains of the decadent Viennese society!"

Elsa flinched, visibly, but she did not cower. He knew for a fact that she had never allowed herself to be overly affected by his black moods before. That was one of the reasons why she had been relatively successful in bringing him out of the worst of his depression, and also why their liaison had survived the first few encounters. This time, however, it seemed that he went a little too far, he came very close to offending her, and she did not hide the fact from him.

"Georg! That hurt! I´m sorely disappointed, I can´t believe that is what you think of me and my friends? Remains of a decadent society, are we? Oh please, darling! I know what you think about some of your peers, but I never thought you would include me among them. I heard worse from you, but this…"

"… is not what I think, it is not what you are and I apologize," he said quickly before her distress worsened. "I seem to have forgotten myself for a moment. You are not like them, Elsa, you never were. It is… this place," he looked around him. "Places like this bring out the best and the worst in me, I´m afraid."

"Did I ever tell you how absolutely appealing you look when you speak like a veritable naval commander, _Captain_?" she exclaimed playfully, with the clear intent to lighten the mood.

He rolled his eyes, impatiently. "Darling, this is not the time to…"

"You do. Very, very, _very_ sexy. In fact it makes me feel tempted to provoke you once in a while just to see if my captain turns into a pirate…"

"Elsa!" he warned again, without the slightest hint of amusement. But he recovered himself quickly, as soon as she gave him one of her dazzling smiles in response. "It won´t happen, darling, I am much to dull to be a pirate."

"Georg!"

"I am sorry. I think I must be too tired after so many hours of driving. I seem to be utterly unable to think straight at the moment."

"Which is precisely why I think a bit of the fresh air of your own country home will do you good. It will help you clear your thoughts. Now tell me: What is _that_ for, may I ask?" she asked, trying to lighten his heavy mood once more with a touch of mirth in her eyes, pointing to the riding crop in his hand.

He looked at it.

"I thought you wanted to see the stables," he said, with feigned innocence, playing along with her this time.

"Good, I thought you were going to discipline _someone_ with it! That someone certainly being poor defenseless little me for taking too long to come downstairs again, of course... or for _daring_ to suggest redecorating your superb ballroom!"

"I am not a believer in corporal punishment, darling," he winked.

"That is too bad," she replied, pouting. "Anyway, about the horses - that was a fair request, don't you think?" She hooked her arm to his. "I showed you mine, you show me yours!"

"Not fair, darling – yours are bigger than mine!"

She let out a merry laugh.

"Oh Georg! You can be as bad as Max when you really apply yourself to it!" She slapped his shoulder, playfully. "Just for the record – I most sincerely doubt it," she purred, as they made their way outside.


	33. Chapter 33

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 33**

_**The unromantic**_

**ooo**

"_**Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,**_

_**Old Times is still a-flying:**_

_**And this same flower that smiles today,**_

_**Tomorrow will be dying."**_

_**Robert Herrick**_

**ooo**

_**"You see, I am a very prosaic, unromantic, sensible sort of fellow myself; and I have always had my heart set on finding the most sensible, prudent, level-headed wife in the world. But, on the other hand, it is very important to me that she possess one very particular flaw: she must have no sense whatsoever where I myself am concerned. She would only have to take one look at me and - no matter what her steadiness of mind - she would lose it in the space of seconds... Just lately, I have sometimes thought I may have found what I have always wanted. But just lately I have also noticed she has developed a most irritating habit of looking at the ground whenever we are together. Do you think she could try to overcome it? Well, Charlotte, **__**are**__** you going to look at me now?"  
><strong>_

_**Jane Austen**_

**ooo**

It was clear to Elsa that the graveyard incident had disturbed Georg, and not necessarily because she had practically forced him to visit his wife´s grave. The fact that she had her promise to her friend as an excuse certainly helped, although she would have lied about that if she had to.

The reason had been his puzzling behavior in Vienna. At first she had tried to delude herself, thinking that once they approached his beloved Salzburg he would go back to his normal self, but a series of small incidents before and shortly after their arrival told her otherwise. Well, perhaps it would be those erratic changes in his behavior that would finally give her a clue. She never had any illusions about the fact that Georg von Trapp was not a perfect man and that it was his flaws that made him appealing to her. Among other things, he was a dismal liar. It was only a matter of time until he betrayed himself completely and then she would know.

Yes, she _had_ to find out. She _needed_ to find out. And she _would_ find out.

She cared deeply for him. If it wasn´t love, it was the closest thing to it she had ever felt in her life. Not even her husband was deserving of so much blind affection, although she had adored her ugly Baron. Her feelings were the main reason, although all of her other motives were of a more practical nature. Needless to say, Elsa von Schraeder was a woman with an objective, and, as such, she needed to know precisely where her obstacles were. Where or, more precisely, _who_ her obstacle was… that is, if her worst inner fears were proven true after all. All that she had learned from a master, Georg himself. Like him, she too, was a strategist, and like such, she needed to know exactly what she had to face.

First of all, she needed to make sure that whatever was bothering him, it was not Agathe. That alone would set her mind at ease. If the problem was another woman, Elsa could very well fight, and win, whatever female who had the audacity to stand between her and Captain von Trapp, _as long as the barrier was in the world of the living_. Battling a memory, a ghost, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter, a million times more difficult, if not impossible.

However, he had remained impassive at first – he told her that the sight of Agathe´s grave was "_just a place"_ and that she was "_no longer there"_. She had not believed him entirely – Georg was too much a man of tradition to think so dispassionately about something like that. No, what she did believe is that the place did not affect him as much _now_. But something else or – and she really hoped it would not be the case – _someone_ else was affecting him.

The wild flowers…

It had been the sight of them that they had found scattered all over the grave that had finally done something to him. She could tell Georg had been oddly moved by the gesture, in spite of his initial annoyance, judging by the way he, almost tenderly, gathered the scattered flowers and bound them together, placing them neatly on top of the grave. His unexpected gentleness after the initial violent reaction added to his frank indignation, the ominous look in his face when she dared to suggest that they threw the _weeds_ away in the nearest waste basket, all that had been disturbing to her.

Luckily, there was nothing like Max´s risqué innuendos and outrageous choices for subjects of conversation, to restore the Georg´s mood, at least in the surface. And there he was now, back to his usual old self, as he gave her a quick tour of the grounds of his magnificent property. The children were nowhere to be seen yet, and, for that, she was glad. Elsa was actually able to breathe a little easier when she discovered that she was not going to be greeted by seven children in a line, wearing sailor suits and saluting her in military fashion. Max had been kind enough to offer her a summarized description of Georg´s unusual educational methods.

"_Enough of that_," she thought inwardly. She had brooded about Georg for too long. She was, after all, a woman with a mission, and it was time she concentrated in the task at hand without wasting time in needless worrying.

"We are going to have a glorious time here!" she exclaimed joyfully, in an attempt to break his silence, as they strolled along the lake.

"That is precisely what I am aiming for, darling," he purred.

"Oh, I do hope so. This really is exciting for me, Georg, being here with you."

He laughed, mockingly – not quite the reaction she expected.

"Oh ho ho ho ho ho. Trees, lakes, mountains. When you've seen one, you've seen them all," he said playfully, looking around him, playing with the riding crop it distractedly.

The breathtakingly beautiful scenery did not seem to affect him at all, and she found that oddly depressing. Yet, at the same time, he had the bearing of a man completely at ease and in control in his own dominion. He was the lord and master of his domains, but also a man who would simply _fit_ in any place, whether he owned it or not. She knew that was a stance that only a man of his birth and breeding would have. To Elsa, there was hardly anything sexier than that.

"I´ve traveled everywhere, to the most beautiful places on earth, and nothing really compares to this. It´s so idyllic! I can certainly understand why you have chosen to be here… No, do not look at me like that, it is not what I really mean and you know it. It is not only this beautiful scenery that really appeals to me."

"Ah, then you mean me. _I _am exciting!" he exclaimed, feigning surprise, but not without a good dose of his good, old sarcasm.

"Is that so impossible?"

"No, just – uh - highly improbable. I´m nothing but a Captain without a ship, merely living on memories of past glories…"

"There you go, running yourself down again," she censored him.

"Well, I'm a dangerous driver."

"_There he goes again, using his charm and humor as a shield," _she thought, although she could not keep herself from laughing this time, trying not too hard to think about the double meaning of his words.

There was nothing wrong with his driving skills whatsoever. Yes, he drove too fast at times, but with such ease that it was impossible not to feel completely safe. His driving methods were not what his comment was about, and they both knew it.

"Sometimes I am _almost_ able to guess what goes on in that dark brooding mind of yours."

"I did not know you were also psychic, my dear!" he mocked.

"Oh, I am not, I assure you. I _am_ very observant; I never made any secret of that to you."

"Do tell me, what have you… uh… _observed_ about me this time, my darling?"

"I think I will keep that to myself for the moment." She fluttered her eyelashes and lowered her eyes with a Monalisa smile, resorting to one of the feminine tricks in her repertoire that she had not used since she was eighteen years old with the first man she had ever tried to seduce.

"Minx," he said softly.

She laughed.

"There he is, the fascinating man I know and adore. Who was the other one and what has he done with you?" It was his turn to chuckle. "You know, you're - you're much less of a riddle when I see you here, Georg."

"In my natural habitat?" He looked around him. Possessively and proudly but still bored.

"Yes, exactly," she replied, and resisted the temptation of asking him if Aigen was really his natural habitat.

Aigen, Salzburg – or the sea that had been essential to him during most part of his life. The sea and Agathe, his greatest loves. His arm around her shoulder distracted her, once again.

"Are you trying to say that I'm more at home here among the birds and the flowers and the wind that moves through the trees like a restless sea, hmm?" he asked, poking her elbow with the riding crop.

"How poetic!"

He smiled, almost shyly, and scratched behind his ear.

"Yes, it was rather, wasn't it?"

"To say that I was once told that the forbidding Captain von Trapp was a poet deep inside," she said. "A lousy poet, but a romantic nonetheless."

"Hmm," he frowned, and then he rambled on, steering to safer waters. "That is something my wife would say to me every now and then," he said, distractedly, but there was no sadness in his voice.

"Do you honestly believe I am more at home here than in Vienna?" he asked abruptly, returning to the original subject of their conversation. "In all your glittering salons, gossiping gaily with bores I detest, soaking myself in champagne? Stumbling about to waltzes by Strausses I can't even remember? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"More or less, yes," she giggled.

"Now, whatever gave you that idea?" Elsa´s giggle turned to a laugh.

"Darling, but you do all that so elegantly, so beautifully. No one would ever guess that you longed to be somewhere else, to do something else!" She let out a genuinely happy sigh. "How I do like it here, Georg. I never imagined I would love it so much, and yet I do, I really do. It's so lovely and peaceful. How can you leave it as often as you do?"

"Ah, pretending to be madly active, I suppose."

"Hmm, I find that very hard to believe. You don´t need pretending, my darling, you are one of the most _madly active_ men I have ever known. Perfecting submarines, writing your memoirs, writing about… what was the book you were telling Max during our drive today? The one you have been working on, that it is about ready to be published."

"Strategies of submarine warfare," he provided, unable to disguise a great deal of pride in his statement. After all, few men knew more about the subject that he did, even though he had not been in active duty in quite a while.

"There! You have all that, and you also have your horses, your seven children to raise..."

While Elsa spoke, he shook his head vehemently, grimacing visibly when she mentioned the children.

"That is not quite what I mean, Elsa. There is a subtle difference between being active and being merely busy. Being busy is merely filling the time with as many tasks as you possibly can. That is what I am. Activity, on the other hand, requires a purpose. It suggests a life filled with purpose." He smiled sadly.

"Oh darling, sometimes you are just too much of philosopher for my taste. But I forgive you. You are right, of course - you are a very _busy_ man, not an _active_ one."

"It makes a difference, Elsa, whether you believe it or not. It is not merely semantics. _My_ brand of semantics, at least."

"Could you be simply running away from memories?" she dared to ask the obvious. "_Or running to them_," she added in thought.

"Mm hm," he agreed. "Or perhaps just searching for a reason to stay."

"Something that calls you back here while you are away?" she asked, tentatively, taking the risk of pushing him a little farther and he nodded. "I remember something Agathe used to say about seafaring men, long before she even met you."

"What was that?" he asked grimly, and she knew he had uttered the question out of politeness, more than anything else.

"She used to say to me that every sailor needs a woman to return to, and every woman needs someone to wait for, which resulted in a perfect combination, of course."

He smiled, and it was such a sad smile that Elsa felt immediately sorry that she had reawakened another memory and for the second or third time that day… She couldn´t help it, however, and she would push him as far as she would have too, in order to get the answers she needed. She was more than willing to be that woman waiting for him if she needed to, whether he was out sailing the seven seas or equally unreachable, when he was brooding, locked in his study. The question was if she, Elsa von Schraeder, was the woman he longed to go back to.

"Oh, I dare to hope that's why you've been coming to Vienna so often. Or were there other distractions there?" she asked, lightening the tone, poking him a little, hoping to have a hint about his inner thoughts at the same time.

"Oh, I'd hardly call you a mere distraction, darling," he said, pulling her by the waist next to him.

He had cleverly used her question in order to avoid giving her an answer – cleverly done, as usual. This time, she did not mind it, because he had also _touched_ her. It had been such a spontaneous gesture, so natural. He rarely took the initiative to touch her, even in their more intimate moments and even knowing that she would welcome his touch, as she had made clear to him so many times before. This time his hand lingered on her waist for a while, and it was her who stepped away, breaking contact. There was still that something she wanted to be sure of – and that was more important at the moment than to have him simply touching her so casually.

"Well, what would you call me, Georg?" she asked bluntly.

"Mmmm…" He examined her face, analytically, as if studying a classical sculpture. "Lovely. Charming, witty, graceful. The perfect hostess."

She did not try to interrupt his string of comments, because she was enjoying herself too much, and she glowed in feminine pride, although her mind screamed: "_He still hasn´t answered you, you fool!"_

"And, uh - you're going to hate me for this - in a way, _my savior_. In more ways than one, I should add."

It was not the first time he had told her that, but she was also aware that she had not merely helped him enjoy life again. In a small but very effective way, she had brought his beloved sea back to him, by encouraging him to go back to writing about what he knew, about what he had experienced, and by encouraging him to put his expertise in naval engineering to practical use again. Nowadays, the British Royal Navy now never dared to turn one single screw in any of the submarines in their fleet without consulting Georg von Trapp first. She often wondered what the officers in the highest ranks would say if they knew that they owed the safety of their men underwater partly to what most people believed to be a shallow Viennese socialite.

"Oh, how _unromantic_! The bad poet is back, I see. Is there a way to get rid of him?" Having learned from a master, she tried to hard her disappointment behind sarcasm.

"_Grow up, Elsa. What were you expecting him to say? "My future wife?" Yes, that was what you wanted to hear, wasn´t it? The woman he would always long to return to…_" she thought.

Yet, he continued in the same serious tone, too serious for her liking.

"Well, I'd be an ungrateful wretch if I didn't tell you at least once that it was you who brought some meaning back into my life."

It was her turn to be baffled by the intensity in his gaze. She tore her gaze away. If she was certain that she alone was the cause of the hot, passionate look in his eyes, and not the unknown demons he had been fighting for the past few weeks, she would have held her ground. Maybe she would throw her arms around him and kiss him passionately. It was partly what she wanted to hear, wasn´t it? He _needed_ her, and if there was something that she had always known about herself, even before she was married, was that she would never want a man unless he needed her desperately.

Instead, it was her turn now to use irony as a weapon.

"Oh, I am amusing, I suppose. And I do have the finest couturier in Vienna. And the most glittering circle of friends. And I do give some rather gay parties." It was not what he meant, and they both knew it.

"Oh ho ho, yes," he said, taking her arm, as they started walking again.

"But take all that away and you - you have just wealthy, unattached little me - searching just like you."

Georg chuckled, and squeezed her hand.

"Now _who_ is running themselves down?"

"Most women do when they're seeking reassurance." She paused, allowing him time to register what she had just said.

"Reassurance. _You_? You are one of the most self confident women I have ever met!"

"You know, when I give myself up to all this beauty, I begin to wonder whether Vienna is all that important to me after all... If you could bear to live far from the sea, maybe I could bear to be far from my Vienna. Do you think I'd be a fish out of water here, Georg?"

"Certainly the _loveliest_ fish that ever gasped the Tyrolean air..."

"There he is again! Dear Lord, won´t the bad poet ever leave? That's not very much of an answer, especially considering the fact that we are _not_ in Tyrol!"

It was his turn to laugh.

"Come on; let's go see what our chaperon is up to."

"Still eating, Max, hm? Tch, tch. You must be unhappy," Georg said, as he climbed the stairs to the terrace. His eyes scanned his surroundings quickly.

_Where were the children? _

_And where was that governess?_

It was all so silent, so _lovely and peaceful_ as Elsa had called it. What she had no way of knowing was that, although the villa in Aigen was undoubtedly lovely, he was hardly expecting it to be peaceful, at least not seven children were running around with a governess that, as far as he could tell, was very much a rebel.

"That marvelous mixed quartet I've been trying for months to steal away from Saul Feurock…" Max grumbled, taking another bite of his _apfelstrudel_.

"What happened, darling?" asked Elsa.

"Yesterday, Sasha Petrie stole them first. If there's one thing I hate, it's a thief."

"Max, you really must try and learn to – uh - love yourself," Georg said scathingly.

"I am trying! For this I had to call Paris, Rome and Stockholm," Max rambled on, ignoring his friend´s barb.

"On Georg's telephone, of course," noted Elsa.

"Well, how else could I afford it? Oh, dear, I like rich people. I like the way they live. I like the way I live when I'm with them."

"I wonder where the children are…" Georg said, hardly paying attention to whatever Max and Elsa were saying about Stockholm and his telephone.

"Obviously, they must have heard I was coming and went into hiding," said Elsa.

"Oh ho, no, I don´t think so, darling. My children can be many things, but they are _not_ cowards. In fact, I was hoping they'd be here to welcome you. I left very specific instructions."

"They could hardly be here to welcome me, if you made a point of arriving by surprise," suggested Elsa.

"_It was not the children I wanted to surprise, it was their _governess,_" _he thought grimly.

He frowned at Elsa.

"Yes, but they were not supposed to be _elsewhere_,not at this hour. They should be studying in their rooms studying." Well, if the children were not around, he would find them – and her. Franz and Frau Schmidt had been absurdly enigmatic about it.

"Uh, Max, uh, do step out of character for a moment and, uh, try and be charming."

With those parting words, the Captain strode into the house, with the intention of finding his children – and their governess – once and for all.


	34. Chapter 34

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 34**

_**Preparing a battle**_

**ooo**

_**"It is by no means enough that an officer of the navy should be a capable mariner. He must be that, of course, but also a great deal more. He should be as well a gentleman of liberal education, refined manners, punctilious courtesy, and the nicest sense of personal honor.**_

_**He should be the soul of tact, patience, justice, firmness, and charity. No meritorious act of a subordinate should escape his attention or be left to pass without its reward, even if the reward is only a word of approval. Conversely, he should not be blind to a single fault in any subordinate, though, at the same time, he should be quick and unfailing to distinguish error from malice, thoughtlessness from incompetency, and well meant shortcoming from heedless or stupid blunder."**_

**John Paul Jones**

**ooo**

Like a hawk, Max watched, as his good old friend, Captain Georg von Trapp disappeared inside the house. It wasn't until he could no longer be seen that he approached Elsa, cautiously, and with a very definite purpose in mind. If his friend was insanely affected by a certain governess – although he would not really believe it if he saw them together with his own eyes – then he wanted to know. Next, he would want to find out exactly how strong that attraction was – if merely sexual, then he would be sure not to meddle.

He knew the signs well and he hoped Georg had not changed so much in the last two and a half decades. He knew well how he used to act in the old days, before his marriage, when he was interested in a woman. There had been quite a few of them, and usually it did not take too much effort from the dashingly handsome Captain to achieve his goal. His first real challenge had been Agathe Whitehead, and it took him straight to the altar – well, that had been different, not only because he _loved_ her, but because she had probably been the first young woman of a respectable family to catch his interest.

Now this new one should be interesting… The governess of his seven motherless children, young and a future nun.

In spite of the fact that he was yet to see the girl, he was certain that she was nothing at all like any of the women in Georg´s distant past. Yes, the time could not be worse, because now there was a chance that he would see him tie the knot with his best female friend – Elsa von Schraeder. Would a little postulant from the mountains be an obstacle to what, in Max's mind at least – could be the quintessential perfect union?

This should be interesting. Very, _very_ interesting.

"Well?" he asked simply, his eyes gleaming with mirth and curiosity.

"Well, what?" was Elsa´s irritated answer. "As I matter of fact, I think that I should be asking you the same question. You have known him longer than I have. I know there are things he tells you that he would never tell _me_."

"You are hopelessly wrong about that, darling. The man is a sphinx. I have known only one person who was able to read his moods like an open book, and he was married to her for nearly twenty years." Max shrugged. "As for knowing him longer than you have, I have never been _practically engaged_ to him. There are things, my dear that only a woman can perceive. I thought that you, of all women, would know that."

"_Practically engaged_?" she echoed dramatically, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "Oh dear, dear Max!"

"Then tell me, darling. Have you made up Georg's mind yet? Do I hear wedding bells?" he asked, eagerly.

"Pealing madly," was the sarcastic response.

"Honest?" There was something about Elsa's exasperated tone, not to mention her sarcasm, which he did not quite like. It stopped him from believing her answer. Her next words surprised him.

"Yes, but not necessarily for me."

"If not for you, them for who else?"

"This is exactly what I´ve been telling myself, but sometimes I am not so convinced."

"What kind of talk's that?"

"That is "_none of your business"_ talk, Max. I may be losing my mind, but I'll just say that somehow, and sometimes, he does act and talks like a man who is deeply in love but…"

"… not necessarily with you," Max guessed.

"Cruel, isn't it? Oh, I am starting to feel so desperate! I keep telling myself, that. "_Elsa, if not you, then who else?"_ I almost convince myself when I do that, but there is always a little nagging doubt that… I don´t know. This has been torturing me ever since the day he arrived in Vienna."

"Well, in this case I think that…"

"Oh no. Don´t."

"Don´t what, darling?"

"Don´t think. Don´t do anything. As much as I would like you do actually _do_ something, I rather you stayed away from this, you fiend! For the moment, at least. I'm terribly fond of Georg and I will not have you toying with us. He is a very complex man, you know. I could be wrong. I don't want anyone to _do_ anything unless it is absolutely necessary."

"I see, but… You? When were you ever wrong about a man? A distinguished member of the male species? You always had them all wrapped around your elegant fingers. No, it is highly unlikely, darling. Come on! Let us be honest, you _sensed_ something, so did I. What is wrong with sharing a little information with your best friend?"

Elsa glared at him. He decided to change his tactics.

"I'm a child. I like toys. So tell me everything." Elsa, however, only shook her head and still said nothing. He insisted. "Aw, come on. Tell Max every teensy weensy, intimate, disgusting detail."

"You are _hopeless_, aren't you? What will I get in return?"

"Information, darling. _Valuable_ information. And help, if you need it and when you need it." When her eyes gleamed excitedly, he continued. "But…"

"I knew here had to be a "_but_" with you…"

"Elsa, you know well I owe that insufferable aristocrat enough – my life, to say the least. I can and I will help you – for as long as I am certain I will be helping Georg as well. That is my one condition."

"I know – it would not hurt your bank account either, would it?"

"Don't pout like that. You are far too beautiful to have wrinkles so soon. Now do tell Uncle Max what is wrong!"

The Baroness sighed, defeated.

"Well, let's just say I have a feeling I may be here on approval."

"Well, I approve of that. How can you miss? We both agree on one thing – if not you, then who else?"

"I can miss, and far too easily. Max, stop asking questions for which you already know the answers."

"I know _nothing _at all, but I know you, darling. And I also know that you will find a way."

"Oh, he's no ordinary man."

"Wah-ho, no, he's rich."

"Obviously, but the size of his assets has nothing to do with it… Oh please, don´t give me that look you devil, this is no time for your innuendos. When his wife died she left him with a terrible heartache."

"When your husband died, he left you with a terrible fortune."

"Oh, Max, you really are a beast!" she mocked, laughing.

"You and Georg are like family to me. That's why I want to see you two get married. We must keep all that lovely money in the family…"

ooo

Captain Georg _Ritter _von Trapp leaned on the veranda's railing, his head bowed.

He felt suddenly… drained.

The children were still nowhere to be found, and the inquiries he had made among the servants did not provide him with information enough to set his mind at ease. It had taken him all of his iron control not to start bellowing that _somebody_ better come forward tell him exactly where they were and what they were up to or _else_. However, he had guests in the house, and he did not wish their first day in Aigen to begin with witnessing his anger towards the help.

Oh yes, the children all adored their Fräulein already, that was made clear enough to him. The problem was that now, she apparently had _contaminated_ other members of the staff also who also _adored_ as well, with the possible exception of Franz, but the butler did not seem to like anyone. Frau Schmidt and Frau Poppmeier seemed to be completely smitten by the black sheep of Nonnberg for some ludicrous, inexplicable reason. That he was losing control of his own servants angered him beyond belief. His house was the closest thing to one of his ships he could think of, and if he could no longer command it…

No, he would _not_ let that happen!

As if those worries weren't enough, he had just caught the courier in the act, as while he was throwing pebbles at Liesl´s window. As learning about the fact that his sixteen year old daughter had a love interest wasn't enough, to make matters worse, the boy had greeted him with a Nazi salute. Liesl had always been sickeningly naïve, even as a child, but a _Nazi_! That was too much for him to bear.

No, he was _not_ having a good day. Arriving home unannounced had proved not to be such a good idea at all. Even Elsa's soft touch in his arm, and the gentle sound of her voice were not enough to sweeten his sour disposition.

"Hello?" she said melodiously, but he was still too angry to respond, too busy fighting his inner demons.

"You're far away. Where are you?" she insisted gently, whispering close to his ear.

"In a world that's... disappearing, I'm afraid."

Yes, it was all disappearing. He was losing the little control he had over everything in his life. Austria was disappearing, and with it everything he believed in, everything he once gave his life for. His servants did not look at him with quite the same respect for his authority anymore. His sixteen year old daughter was in love with a sympathizer of the Third Reich. And he could not stop thinking about… No, he would stop it – that, at least, he would be able to control. His thoughts, his emotions, were still his own.

Taking a deep calming breath, and focusing in his surroundings helped him, just a little. The contrast was staggering. Peace and tranquility all around him, nothing could be heard except for the sound of birds singing and distance voices of children playing on the lake, most probably the same urchins he had seen in that tree line… Those little ragamuffins who, for a mad splint of a second, he had even succumbed to insanity and considered that they could be…

"Is there any way I could bring you back to the world I'm in?" Elsa's melodious voice asked. She was now leaning closer to him and under any other circumstances he would have pulled her to him and…

… _his children!_

The children's voices were clearer now, coming nearer. No, not the educated voices he always wanted to associate with his well brought up sons and daughters, destined to be the cream of Austrian society. There was laughter, there was singing, and there was _shouting_. His children never _shouted_ like that, did they? At least not anymore.

"_I am going to wring her blasted neck, I swear I am,_" he cursed inwardly, jerking his head towards the lake. He no longer cared of he said those words aloud, he did not care if Elsa heard them at all, did not care what she would think of them if she did.

With every step, he recognized the sound of each of his children's voices, he recognized _her _voice. He practically ran to the gate on the shore of the lake that guarded the steps going into the water, where the rowboat used to be secured. The skiff, which had not been used for years, was now missing.

He cursed. Loudly.

He could only find a word to describe the governess's actions during his absence, her open rebellion against his orders and the fact that at least some of the servants had been dragged into her little conspiracy. That word was _mutiny_.

The Captain did not have to look very far to find the culprit, one responsible for such acts of insubordination – he merely had to raise his head and look to his left. The hand holding the riding crop went to his hip, as he scowled impatiently.

With Maria in the prow, the children rowed towards the house, singing at the top of their lungs, the ragged version of a song he did not recall ever hearing before, about "_drops of golden sun"_ and other silly things, similar to the unlikely combination of "_door bells, sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles"_ they had been yelling about the night before he left for Vienna. He was sure then – the same urchins that he had seen climbing trees were his sons and daughters.

He never knew which of the children spotted him first. It wasn't certainly their governess, for she sat on the prow of the boat, with her back to him, blissfully oblivious of the fate that awaited her.

"Papa!"

"Father!"

"You're home!"

They stood up and started to scream and wave. The boat began to rock precariously. Obviously their excitement did not go unnoticed by Fräulein Maria. Her head turned, her body followed much too quickly.

"Fräulein, do not…" he started saying between gritted teeth, even knowing that she was just too far away, and that the children were making too much noise, so that she couldn't _possibly_ hear him.

She rose.

"… stand!" he finished, but it already was too late, bracing himself for what he knew was going to happen, what years and years of life at sea told him was inevitable.

"Oh! Oh, Captain!" she clasped her hands together, shouting, a cry of the most absurd joy, and he failed to understand, at that moment, why was she so damned _happy_ to see him. "You're home!" she opened her arms wide, as if to welcome him, and completely lost her balance, falling backwards on the lake.

The children and their governess had broken the number one safety rule – if you must move on a small boat, stay low and do not stand unless you are sure it is stable enough. The boat capsized spectacularly. The children fell on the water in the portside of the boat, their governess disappeared on the other side.

He did not worry about the children at first. The lake was scarcely one meter deep, and they all knew how to swim very well. Well, Marta and Gretl did not, but as soon as he looked for her, prepared to jump in the water if necessary, he saw that Louisa and Friedrich had come to their rescue already. None of them were crying, none of them seemed to have been frightened at all by the experience. On the contrary, they were laughing wholeheartedly, spitting murky lake water as they sloshed around. It did not look as if they were in a hurry to leave the cold water.

"Come out of that water _at once_!" he bellowed, in his best Captain's voice.

He saw the governess them, with the corner of his eye, but still did not dare to look at her directly. If he did at the moment, he felt like his fury would be so great that she would be instantly fulminated, burnt to cinders before his eyes. He certainly never worried, at that moment, if she were able to swim. Fräulein Maria had indeed resurfaced, her short hair plastered to her head, and quickly grabbed the rope tied to the skiff, and began to drag it behind her towards the shore.

Furiously, he flung open the gate as his grinning, laughing children waded ashore. They looked silly – _happy_. In the back of his mind he noted that he had not seen his children like that in years, but he was too angry at that moment to give it another thought.

That was not how he had planned it. They should be in line, wearing their impeccably tailored sailor suites. They would be introduced by order of birth to his future wife…

"Oh! You must be Baroness Schraeder!" the Fräulein spoke, in the same absurdly joyful voice. If she had noticed his anger, she either chose to ignore it, or she simply did not care.

Turning slightly, he saw Elsa just behind him. Only then he noted her presence. To his horror, even her seemed to have succumbed to the madness as well – she visibly struggled not to laugh. She had to bite her lips to keep herself from doing so when his scowl deepened. Meanwhile, soaking wet, the children were climbing onto the terrace, talking simultaneously, thus breaking another one of the many rules he was trying to teach them to live by.

"I'm soaked to the skin!" exclaimed Louisa, laughing as he had never heard her laugh before. His Louisa, the most grim-faced, the most ill tempered of his children, _laughing_.

"_What have you done with my children, Fräulein?_" he wanted to ask.

He took the boatswain whistle from his pocket and with one blast, silenced the children's chatter. They looked at each other, uncertainly, not quite sure if they heard it well – then they rushed to their usual places in line and stand at attention.

"Straight line!"

Georg paced back and forth in front of his children, as if inspecting a troupe of unruly sailors. No, not even that. Men who chose to serve in submarines were considered a breed apart, even in the Navy. However, even the worst of the rascals he ever had to command did not have the power to provoke his anger like that.

He paused at Louisa and pulled that _thing_ from her hair - a flowered, green scarf. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Fräulein Maria frowning, disapprovingly, and shaking her head.

"_That is right, Fräulein, deal with it. If there is one thing I will not tolerate in my command is a mutiny. And this qualifies as one_," he thought. His anger reached a boiling point when he gazed at Louisa's wet scarf in his hand and saw that it looked remarkably like… no, it couldn't be!

"This is Baroness Schraeder... " he said, smiling at Elsa. He knew it was a chilling smile, but he could not help it. Somehow, a little of his fury was directed at his future fiancée as well, for daring to find the whole incident… amusing. He turned to the ragged line of children again, and his smile instantly faded.

"… and _these_are my children."

"How do you do?" Elsa greeted them politely, as if she were in her Viennese drawing room. Inwardly, he smiled – he would have expected nothing else from her. Now she was finally back to being the Elsa he knew, and that brought him some relief. A moment earlier, he had been crazy enough to think that she was about to join the _Black Sheep of Nonnberg_ and his children frolicking in the water. Now, all he had to do was to fix it, to fix the damage the governess had caused, by hopelessly ruining what he wanted to be a perfect, first impression for the next Baroness von Trapp, their future mother. And he would begin by addressing the mutinous, anarchistic, insubordinate governess – that is, _former governess_ of his children.

"All right. Go inside, dry off, clean up, change your clothes, report back here! Immediately! " he snapped. The children, by now recovered and reacquainted with his authority, scrambled into the house. Still frowning with disgust, their soon to be _former governess _followed them.

"Fraulein, you will stay here, please!"

She stopped cold where she was, her stiff back to him.

"I – uh - I think I'd better go see what Max is up to," Elsa announced, with melodious elegance. He could not help but noticing the contrast between the two females, as the Baroness, in her tailored, sophisticated suit, floated past Maria, in her plain, wet dress.

The governess turned around to face him. She did so bravely, and he could not help but admire her for that – braver men had cowered when he was in such a mood. He also noticed that she wasn't too keen on wearing a hat at all times – her face was a little sunburned, and there was a bridge of freckles across her nose. She said nothing, not a word, but only stayed her, waiting for his next move. Yet, something in her yes, a look of defiance, warned him that she would not give in easily, that she would prove to be as difficult as she ever was in the couple of times he had confronted her.

"_She has nothing to lose and she knows it,_" he thought.

In that aspect, she was so very different from the previous governesses, and it made all the difference. Those previous women were working to support themselves, and that being the case, losing a job was no pleasant perspective, even though he always made sure to let them go with a generous cheque and a letter of recommendation. It wasn't the case with Fräulein Maria. She had a place to go back to, the convent, where she had planned to lock herself for the rest of her life, and, oddly enough, claimed to be looking forward to it. In fact, he wondered if he would not be doing her a favor by sending her away.

Facing his Nemesis, Captain von Trapp prepared for battle.


	35. Chapter 35

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 35**

_**The sea captain and the governess**_

**ooo**

"_**If your enemy is secure at all points, be prepared for him. If he is in superior strength, evade him. If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant. If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. If his forces are united, separate them. If sovereign and subject are in accord, put division between them. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected."**_

_**Sun Tzu, the Art of War**_

**ooo**

_"Fraulein, you will stay here, please!"_

Maria started at Captain von Trapp, unaware, at first, of her own wet clothes, that now hang uncomfortably heavy on her body and of her dripping hair and the rivulets of water still running down her face. His face, his whole stance, was _stormy_. She doubted that kissing the floor of the entire grounds of the Trapp Villa would appease his anger. She was certain Sister Berthe, the terror of the young postulants, would not be tempted to kiss the floor _herself_, on order to avoid what was to come.

He looked ten times as furious as he had when he had found her dancing in the forbidden ballroom, twenty times as furious as when he had surprised her pillow fighting and dancing in her nightclothes with his children… not to mention that time when she fell from the tree, on top of him. She did not recall any occasion in her life when she had been faced with such burning anger. The nuns were severe with her at times, but never in a way that made her feel threatened in the least – well, she had to admit that most of the times she did deserve their sermons! It was terrifying, to say the least, but she would die before showing him how petrified she was.

She tried to calm herself, taking a few deep breaths.

Captain von Trapp was no coward, and that was oddly reassuring. Basically, he was a man of principles, and that was evident to anyone who knew him just a little. He would never go as low as attacking someone, verbally or not, who could not defend herself. Granted, she had to acknowledge the fact that she had acted no differently than she had with her foster parents, or even with the nuns, by pushing him too far, too quickly. She had made changes in his children's education that were most probably unheard of in any aristocratic family, and she could not expect him to accept everything so easily. Now she would have to face the consequences, as bravely as possible, as she usually did whenever she misbehaved at the Abbey.

Maria knew very well how he would seek to defeat her: with words, using his dark sarcasm and sense of humor, and a great deal of intimidation. Fortunately, she had enough arguments to fight him back. It had been his own children who gave her a reason to fight the upcoming verbal battle for them. After everything she had been told, she could not believe that the father the children described to her had died with his beloved wife. The spontaneous cry of unashamed joy she had uttered when she saw him had been sincere and genuine – for a fleeting moment, she did see that man in the children's past. She saw him in the slightest glimmer of amusement she could detect, even from a distance and only too briefly, in his eyes, just before she fell on the water.

When she realized how angry he was with the whole silly incident, her feelings changed inevitably. Puzzlement had been her first reaction – she could not put two and two together. The Captain she had learned to know through the children's stories for the past few weeks was not the man standing there by the gate, his fury barely contained in his rigid, military stance. He was not same man the children idolized, the same sea captain whose feats they had been telling her about every chance they got. The images just did not match one another. Realization came as soon as her mind registered his anger, and it felt just like the shock of the cold water enveloping her body as she fell on the lake.

He had _not_ changed at all.

He would _not_ change unless he wanted to, and clearly he had no wish to do so, not even for the children. The man was impossibly stubbornly and pig-headed, and she never had to face anyone like that before. She even began to doubt that the father the children had been describing to her had ever existed at all. Had he been just a figment of their collective imagination, hungry as they were for his love and affection? An image so vibrant, so vivid that she had allowed herself to be carried away by it, and show her honest happiness upon seeing him? So strong that she had actually had let it replace the image of the martinet who ran his house like a warship?

"Now, Fraulein. I want a truthful answer from you," he began sternly.

"Yes, Captain?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, while inwardly, she was bracing herself for what was to come, telling herself that the _worst_ thing that could happen to her was to be sent back to Nonnberg...

"_When returning to the convent had turned into the worst thing that could happen to me?"_ she thought.

"Captain, if I may just go inside and change first," she dared asking.

It was a fact; she was slowly becoming cold, even if she was standing in the warm, afternoon sun. It was not only the wish to be again in dry clothes that made her speak up, but maybe a few minutes would be enough to make him go back to being… civilized again. Right now he looked like a medieval warrior, ready to lead her to a fate worse than death. No, he looked like the dragon in her dreams in one of his worse days.

"I'll be back here shortly, I promise."

He showed no mercy, however.

"You should have thought about the consequences before standing up like that in a small skiff. It was very, _very_ unwise of you, Fräulein. As it was unwise of you to take my children to a boat ride in the first place, not when you clearly have never stepped into one before."

"Oh but… but… there was nothing in your orders about the fact that boat rides were not allowed. The children told me you all used to go sailing a lot."

"What I just witnessed does not exactly qualify as sailing!"

"Ehm… I know, but I thought… I believed… well, I _assumed_ that if anything was not specifically forbidden, it…" She swallowed as his scowl deepened. "… it would be… oh well, _allowed_." she finished.

"You thought, you believed and you assumed wrong, Fräulein, as I am inclined to think, believe and assume you usually do."

"Oooh!" She exclaimed, indignantly. _Now_ he was being offensive. She returned his glare with equal force. It did not seem to affect him at all.

Interesting.

"Now, is it possible or could I have just imagined it - have my children by any chance been _climbing trees_ today?" There it was that same biting irony that she had been exposed to before.

"Yes, Captain," she answered truthfully, just as he had asked her to. What was wrong with children climbing trees, anyway?

"I see. Let me begin by addressing all the events, if that is possible. Were you in Aigen this morning?" She nodded. "Did you drag my children to their mother's grave?"

Maria, who was now wringing a portion of her skirts, to get rid of the extra water, raised her head to face him again.

"I didn't exactly _drag_ the children anywhere, Captain, I…"

"I advise you not to lie – I saw the flowers," he added, pointedly.

"I _never_ lie. The children were not with me when I found the grave… Did you see the flowers?" She had to ask herself how on earth he had figured that out, and she proceeded to ask him exactly that. "Captain, may I ask how on earth you knew it was me who…"

"Fräulein!" he yelled, and she jumped. "It _was_ you. You said you _found_ the grave. Does that mean that you were actually _looking_ for it?"

"Weeeeeell…"

"Yes? Do you have relatives buried in that graveyard by any chance?"

"Not exactly… I just… tripped and…"

"You _tripped_? In my wife's grave?"

"It does happen a lot to me, Captain." He rolled his eyes impatiently. "I am always stumbling – or crashing – into things, it is one of my worst..." she stopped, as she was clearly angering him even more with her rambling. "Anyway, it was there before me. I saw the verse first. "_Beautiful lady, we miss you._" It was so poignant. Did you write it yourself?"

"Fräulein, I _am _warning you."

"Only then I realized it was her… your… Baroness von Trapp´s grave. I noticed that there were no fresh flowers and so I thought I could..."

The expression in his face was unspeakable – so much that she could not read it. What was it? Anger? Grief? Whatever it was, his eyes told her that, if possible, she had gone too far. _Again. _She wanted to explain why she had done it, why she had left the flowers there, why she thought that a grave without flowers was such a sad thing. The only thing that she uttered, however, was a heartfelt apology.

"I am sorry, Captain, I had no intention of offending you."

Maybe later he would care to hear about her intentions, he was much too furious at the moment to think rationally. She would do it in writing, if he did not give her a chance to explain it all. Maybe the Reverend Mother could help her with that. Now, she could almost read "_You are fired!_" in huge capital letters in his forehead, so she knew what to expect. Maybe, if he only let her explain herself, and tell him everything she had learned about his children. Things that he, as any father, would want to know. She also knew that it was useless for her to even try to defend herself at the moment. Not with him like that.

Next, he proceeded to throw accusation after accusation at her, dissecting her actions for the past few weeks, never waiting for her to answer one question before asking the next one.

"Did you or did you not turn my dinner table into a ridiculous, mock _submarine_ by covering it with old blankets?"

"Yes, but the boys told me you used to do that."

"What about the miserable excuse of a picnic in the drawing room?"

_Miserable excuse of a picnic? _

How dare he? Her mouth dropped open. If there was one thing that she knew how to do well was to organize a good and fun picnic. If given the opportunity, she would make him swallow his own words by making sure he had the time of his live in a picnic with the children. Again, that little voice told her that it wasn't likely to happen.

"I most certainly could not have a picnic in the mountains when it was pouring outside, could I?" - was her disingenuous argument.

"The weather conditions are irrelevant; I don't care if there was a blasted typhoon raging over Salzburg. _Von Trapp children do not go on picnics_. They do not sit on the floor and eat with their _bare hands_!"

"Not anymore," she mumbled, realizing it was a mistake as soon as she said it. His fists clenched – somehow she had rendered him speechless. And to think that he still did not know _everything… _

"All right, all right! So, now you know _almost_ everything. Unfortunately you were supposed to learn everything little by little..." she admitted, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

"What do you mean by "_you know _almost_ everything", _Fräulein?" he asked, and in a very dangerous tone. "I am waiting for a reasonable and satisfying answer!"

"Well, I could try that, Captain, if you only let me finish one my answers just _once_!"

"I am not in the mood to tolerate your ungovernable verbosity, not anymore!" He stopped pacing, and asked her again, glaring furiously. "What _exactly_ do you mean by me knowing _almost_ everything?"

"_You shall see… or hear in a minute or two,_" she wanted to say, but she wanted the element of surprise on her side.

"Well, that was… that was…" she began.

A motion in the lake behind him attracted her attention, so that she was hardly listening to him or to what she was saying anymore. When she realized what she was seeing, her immediate conclusion was that she had to do something about it, otherwise it would be another accusation in the endless list he was now reciting to her. The good Lord knew that she did not need another one!

"Oh dear… Captain," she tried to interrupt him, but he didn't allow her. With a shrug of her shoulders, she gave up. "All right!"

Blatantly ignoring him, she ran towards the water. The skiff had come loose, and was slowly drifting towards the middle of the lake. She did not even think twice – she jumped again in the cold water, and swam until she was able to take hold of the rope, while, from the shore, the Captain watched her, absolutely aghast.

"And they call you a _gentleman,_" she muttered, not caring if he was hearing her or not, as she pulled the rowboat towards the shore. If he were, he would be helping her, instead of remaining where he was, glaring.

"_He is certainly afraid of ruining his fine clothes,_" she thought angrily. "_Sea captain indeed! If he were a real sea captain, he would not be afraid of a wetting his fine leather shoes._"

She had an uncanny talent for pushing his buttons - all the wrong ones.

Simultaneously.

First she did that only by standing there, ready to face his anger with a bravery that, oh well, he had to admit, although provoking, had not been entirely unexpected, not coming from _her_. At first, when he began his lecture, he knew _precisely_ what to say – he had rehearsed it in his mind in a splint of a second before he began to speak. He planned to demand an explanation from everything he had heard and everything he had witnessed since his arrival. The telegram she had sent him in Vienna, the wild flowers in his wife´s grave, the tree climbing, the way she had turned his villa upside down during his absence, and, finally, the indescribable _rags_ that the children were wearing.

The governess, however, had been utterly distracting. Not because she had held her ground firmly, trying hard to keep from shivering – from cold because of her wet clothes, certainly not out of fear of him. Lord, he could almost hear her teeth chattering! The wet clothes… they clung to her body like a second skin, and she was completely oblivious of how much she was revealing – just as she had been unsuspecting of the impropriety of him being alone with her in her bedroom that night weeks ago, with her wearing nothing but the ugliest nightgown he had ever seen. He saw quite clearly what he briefly felt when she fell from that tree on top of him weeks before and he had to admit, he would never even _consider_ imagining that any future nun would look like that... The thought was nearly sacrilegious, and he banished it immediately, focusing in his anger towards her instead.

He showed no sympathy for her predicament. Had he decided to be the impeccable gentleman he was known to be, he would offer her his jacket, then he would allow her to accompany the children to change into dry clothes, and thus, at least, keeping her not only from getting sick, but from being at such vulnerable position when she faced him, in complete disadvantage. He had refused to let her out of his sight, however. Unpredictable as she was, he knew she could, and she would come up with something to change his mind about the whole incident, before he had a chance to send her away. Not only that, part of his anger would fade, and he needed to be angry now. He needed the full power of his fury ready to be unleashed. Somehow, he found it easier to deal with her when he was in such a state.

All right, she had listened to his accusations at first, but then she completely ignored him to go after that ridiculous little boat which was slowly but surely drifting towards the middle of the lake. He did not care at all for the boat at the moment. The governess, however, had dived after it, as if to save a drowning man in the middle of a hurricane. Now, she was trying to secure it, and the way she was doing it was so completely wrong and inefficient that he felt his temper flare again.

"Fräulein, I assure you, there is a proper way to secure a boat. Had you known that, you wouldn't have needed to take a second cold bath in my lake."

That irritated her, and she did not hide it – she rose to his bait.

"Oh, is there, _Captain_ von Trapp? I am sorry; they failed to teach that at the _Nonnberg Naval Academy_!"

He resisted the temptation to laugh at her wit, when she practically screamed the last words at him, but when he spoke; his tone was as scathing as hers had been.

"They probably did, but you were absent because you were too busy _undisciplining_ children of conspicuous Austrian citizens."

"Conspicuous Austrian…!" She threw the rope on the water, with an outraged moan. "In case you did not notice, _Captain_, we are thousands of kilometers away from the nearest shore," she exaggerated.

"Not thousands, Fräulein. Merely…"

It was her turn not to let him finish a sentence.

"For heaven´s sake, I am a _mountain girl_! Learning how to tie a sailor's knot was never a requirement to climb the Untersberg!"

"The sea maybe far enough, but in _Salzburgerland_ there is a lake behind every mountain, and even a – uh – _mountain girl_ – like you should know how to make a decent knot that a first year cadet can accomplish with his hands tied behind his back!" He spat at light speed. Had to admit, like her, he was exaggerating, and being unreasonable, to say the least. But that was something about the increasingly heightened color of her face that was… enticing.

"Here, let me take care of it," he said finally climbing down one step towards the water.

"Oh, do be careful, Captain, those steps are very slippery." He straightened, looking up at her, exasperated.

Standing a few feet away from him, the water came up to her knees. He did not know if she looked like a poor drowned rat or a water nymph. Her exterior appearance suggested the first, but the clinging, soaked dress suggested the second. Maybe that was what she was, a water nymph in disguise. Ignoring her warning, he extended her his hand, reaching for the rope, with the intent to pull it away from her hand.

The infuriating little postulant had been right, the grounds _were_ slippery.

"Captain!" she screamed, taking a step in his direction. The motion nearly caused him to lose his balance, and it had been only his quick reflexes that prevented him from falling into the water as well. He straightened, just as she had taken his arm in a powerful grip.

"Be careful of what you wish for, Fräulein," he said between clenched teeth, pulling his arm from her grasp and straightening himself. He could swear that she had gulped after hearing his words. Her wet hands left marks in the sleeves of his expensive jacket,

"Oh dear Lord, I'm sorry," she said. "I ruined your elegant jacket!"

He said nothing to acknowledge her apology. An ominous silence reigned as he secured the boat. Looking up at the governess again, he realized she had still not moved. She was still standing there, water to her knees, hair once more plastered to her head, and that innocently revealing dress…

Impatiently, he asked: "Are you, perhaps, a masochist, Fräulein?"

"Am I what?"

Realizing that she would not be familiar with such term, he rephrased his question.

"Do you suffer from self-destructive tendencies, or do you merely harbor the secret ambition of becoming a martyred saint?"

Her eyes widened.

"Of course not! I am merely accident prone, Captain."

"Then why are you still standing there in the middle of the water?" She looked down at herself, only then realizing her precarious situation. He repeated the same command he had issued the children scarcely fifteen minutes earlier.

"Get out of there at once!" She flinched, but made her way towards the shore, past him, who stood by the gate.

She turned around to face him, warily.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, closing the gate behind him.


	36. Chapter 36

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 36**

_**Musings of a surprised old sponge**_

**ooo**

"_**Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced and the inconvenience is often considerable."**_

_**Jane Austen**_

**ooo**

"_**The only thing that should surprise us is that there are still some things that can surprise us."**_

_**François de la Rochefoucauld**_

**ooo**

As much as Herr Max Detweiler enjoyed Elsa and Georg´s company, he had been mentally preparing himself to be bored to tears after only a couple of days in Aigen. He had not been lying during their conversation in the car - the company was perfect, the wine cellar unexcelled, and, although he had not said it then, the seven children wearing identical sailor suits absolutely adorable. Well, a little _too_ adorable at times, it was true, but he could very well live with that as long as he was only an observer and not the target of one of their infernal pranks.

Nevertheless, in spite of the quaint charms of the country life, Herr Detweiler considered himself to be a cosmopolitan man in the truest sense of the word. As such, he enjoyed the busy life of Vienna, rather than the quiet airs of _Salzburgerland_. He already longed for the smoke filled elegant cafés where he would be discussing the fate of the new talents he discovered with other equally cunning impresarios.

All that was forgotten the moment when he saw _her_ for the first time.

Correction – the moment he saw _them_ together. Georg von Trapp and the governess of his seven children. The twelfth one – _number twelve._

Max was one very curious charming sponge, and considering the sight that greeted him when he stepped in the balcony, he could not resist watching the developing between two people shooting sparks at each other, refusing to admit defeat. Not even the birds dared to sing, as if they too were fascinated by their battle of wits. The atmosphere was thick with tension. _Sexual_ tension although no one else would ever dream of acknowledging that.

O-ho, it was simply delicious. There could be some element of fun in the country after all!

While briefly serving in the glorious Austro-Hungarian Royal and Imperial Navy, his favorite pastime used to be watching those who dared to confront the formidable Captain Georg _Ritter_ von Trapp. Although a fair and intelligent leader, Georg had always been a peculiar commander, and that had probably been one of the reasons why he had been awarded the highest medal of honor available at the time. Under normal circumstances, he used to treat his subordinates as gentlemen, even though, by any standards, the men who chose to volunteer to serve in those U-boats were in their majority, anything but that. He used to assert his authority not by force, but by sheer intelligence and reason, by the tone of his voice rather than its volume. For that, he was well liked and admired by most of the men he commanded, and there had never been the slightest hint of a mutiny while he was in active duty. It helped that they all knew about what they all called his _dark side_, which he showed occasionally to those who considered themselves clever enough to defy him. Only then, the fearsome Captain came into being. In these occasions, Max had seen all kinds of reactions to his friend´s blatant display of authority, none of which compared to what he was just witnessing.

Oh, she _had_ to be _number twelve,_ the governess who was causing the Captain to act like a hormone driven young sailor, something that was quite obvious to everyone except himself. Well, maybe not to Elsa, but she was blinded by her own little obsession, not exactly with the man, Georg von Trapp, but with the idea of marrying him and with that, everything he represented – his status as one of Austria´s greatest heroes, and ultimately - although she had no need of it -, his fortune. She had known something was happening, but she was still in denial about what exactly was affecting him so much.

Max squinted, his myopic eyes trying to see more of the young Fräulein from a distance. She was certainly _not_ what he had expected. No, she was most definitely not the bosomy, bovine young woman he had pictured in his mind, with tightly braided hair looking at least a decade older than she actually was. As a postulant of Nonnberg Abbey, he imagined that she would be holding a rosary at all times and who would talk of nothing without trying to impose her strict religious beliefs. The Fräulein he was seeing at a distance could probably curse like a sailor, and she would if Georg provoked her enough.

He had to immediately correct this mental image, starting with her appearance.

What a delightful, refreshingly innocent surprise she was!

"_She looks nothing like a nun!_" he exclaimed aloud from the balcony.

He first saw the governess standing up precariously in a very small boat with the Captain´s precious seven children. There wasn´t the slightest hint of the picture he had been expecting. Instead, the young woman looked more like a pixie, trim and light. Instead of a black habit he was expecting, what he saw was a short-haired haired girl, wearing a light colored, typical Austrian, country dress. When the children called her attention for the Captain´s presence, she opened her arms wide, as if she expected him to jump on them. Max had the absurd idea that, if she were on dry land, it would be precisely what she would do – she would jump in his arms, impulsively without a second thought.

"_Oh Captain! You´re home!_" she had cried out, in a clear, high-pitched voice, in pure, unadulterated joy.

His very first thought had been "_This one can sing!_", however, something that his experience as an impresario taught him to tell, judging only by the sound of her voice. His second thought had been that he was only sorry he could not see Georg´s face when the boat capsized, and his seven little darlings, together with their curious little governess, fell on the water. His third thought, before things got _more_ interesting, if possible, was:

"_Prepare for battle, Captain!"_

Elsa, standing just behind Georg, apparently had been watching the events with cool detachment - well, as far as he could tell - quickly left the scene, as elegantly as she could possibly manage. If she too had been caught unawares by the postulant, she did not let it show. Max could not help but chuckling in amusement, as the Baroness walked past the soaked to the skin governess like a soft breeze, like if the poor girl did not exist at all.

When Elsa saw him spying from the balcony, she merely rolled her eyes and walked past him, into the house. He felt tempted to ask her to stay, for the best was yet to come. For some reason he did not, a decision that he would not regret later.

Georg remained alone with the young woman, unaware that Max Detweiler was witnessing the scene. A young woman, a future nun – an important and meaningful detail that Max would not allow himself to forget. The governess had been described by Georg with such words as _irritatingly wholesome and naïve_ and _annoyingly innocent_ – something like that. Sarcastically, his friend also had said that the children´s Fräulein was truly a "_gift from heaven"._ Now Max could not help but wonder if sarcasm was all there was about that statement.

"_Why didn´t he send her inside to change too, as he had done with the children?_" Max asked himself. It wasn´t like the Captain he knew at all. The least that the Georg he knew would do would be to remove his jacket and place it around the shivering girl´s shoulders.

"You old dog!" he said out loud, playfully punching the railing, when he realized the underlying reason – although he doubted Georg himself was fully aware of it.

The little Fräulein had quite a figure, one that was fully revealed by her clinging wet dress. She was nothing like the elegantly built Elsa von Schraeder, who appeared not to have a single gram of extra fat anywhere in her figure. No, the governess appeared to be soft and rounded in all the right places. More than enough to impress a _connoisseur_ of the female form as Captain von Trapp.

The girl was also deceptively small. Max remembered that Agathe´s head barely skimmed Georg´s shoulder, but this one was tall enough to meet him eye to eye without having an uncomfortable cringe in her neck. And that was exactly what she was doing now, as she confronted him, raising her voice whenever he raised his, matching his deadly scowls with some of her own. It was a formidable scene, something to watch!

What amused Max the most was the fact that, between the two of them, the governess seemed to be more in control of herself, and consequently less blinded by anger. Only those who knew Georg well could tell how rarely he raised his voice above the necessarily, polite level. He seldom had to shout his orders, it was the merely a cautionary glance or the tone of his voice that conveyed the command in his words. When arguing with a fellow officer or lecturing a subordinate, he usually resorted to clever irony to intimidate his opponent, not the power of his lungs. Yet, he was doing that now, and that slip of a girl was holding her ground, while he was barely aware of what was going on around them. As furious as he was with the whole incident, Georg had not noticed that he was about to lose his precious rowboat – a gift from Agathe when they moved to Aigen -, which was drifting away. The governess actually went for it, leaving the Captain only to stare at her, speechless.

Oh, he would very much loved to watch the following developments, but he heard Elsa´s voice calling him from inside the house. For some unknown reason, Max did not wish Elsa to witness what was going on anymore, not yet. He needed to think, there were things he needed to understand.

"Darling, I think we are wanted in the drawing room."

"Are we? It is always good to know we are _wanted_, isn´t it my dear?"

"Max, you devil!"

"Who wants us?" he asked, quickly walking away, from the balcony. Somehow, he did not want Elsa to be disturbed by the scene developing by the lake. "Georg is still outside with the…"

"_Fraulein!"_

"… the Fräulein. Yes, I think you heard him," said Max.

He had cringed when they heard the Captain´s unmistakable bellow coming from outside. Elsa, however, kept her cool hauteur, and decided to ignore the commotion, even though the sound of Georg´s voice raised in anger was something she probably never heard before. In fact, it was probably something no one had ever heard before, unless he or she happened to watch him in action at sea. The only sign she had been affected by it was a slight raise of her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

"It appears Georg has his hands full dealing with… _her_ at the moment. No, it is not him who calls us. Oddly enough we are being called by _the children_."

Max raised his eyebrows.

"The children? What could they want for us?"

"I assume the little dears want to apologize to me."

"Why? What they have done to you? Don´t tell me that you became the latest victim of one of their nasty tricks!"

Elsa was about to answer when an angry female voice was heard this time, and it was obvious to Max to whom it belonged to.

"_Oh, you arrogant, conceited, pompous…!_"

"Dear Lord!" Elsa shrieked, rolling her eyes, taking Max´s arm and leading him towards the stairs. "Come, let us go inside. Whatever those children have in store for us, it can´t be worse than this. Appalling, isn´t it? First that disgraceful scene on the lake and now all this yelling… Something tells me we will not be seeing that governess again, I don´t think Georg ever allowed such awful lack of class in his house."

"I would not be so quick in drawing any conclusions, my dear." Max chuckled. "That little governess may have a reason for calling him all those names… And you know him, he might listen to what they are."

"Max, really!"

"Elsa, Georg can be a puffed up snob when he wants to. I know that, you know that. That girl, whoever she is, must have a temper to match his, and if she yelled that, I have a little doubt that he deserved at least part of it. Trust me, it will do him good to have a good dose of his own remedy. Remember how Agathe used to scold him often when he was acting too much like the Baron and too little like the seaman, as she liked to say?"

"Yes, but Agathe was his wife, and not the _help_. Does that… little plebeian even know, does she even have the slightest idea of _who_ he is?"

"Apparently not," said Max, still amused, as the sounds of the fight still reached them. "Refreshing, isn´t it? I wonder who the Captain deals with someone who doesn´t know what the von Trapp name stands for…"

"_I am not finished yet, Captain!"_

_"Oh, yes, you are, Captain!"_

"Of course she has never heard of him, what was I thinking… Did he just call her _Captain_?"

"I think he has!" Max wanted to double over in laughter, but he held himself back.

Leaving the terrace, Elsa began an endless monologue, as they walked towards the drawing room.

"Oh well! Let us forget about Georg and his troubles with the help. He will certainly deal with a horde of governesses just fine. Now, it also looks like the von Trapp children have a little surprise prepared for us, although considering the little I saw of them I shudder to think about what the _surprise_ could be. I don´t think I can take anymore of those today."

Max smiled.

"I suspect that seven children and one screaming governess calling Georg a conceited oaf must have been too much for you, am I right darling?

"Indeed! Climbing trees! And those ridiculous costumes that the poor little ones were wearing. Poor, _darling_ Georg! That silly deranged little… twit! I don´t care what you said, I supposed he must have fired her by now, it was the most sensitive thing to do. He does need _my_ help around here, don´t you think? Especially with the eldest – she _is_ quite a beauty. How old is she?"

"Elizabeth? Sixteen or seventeen, I believe."

"Well, she is just the right age to attend the next Opera Ball – with my help, she will be the most gorgeous _débutante_ of the season. I told Georg I would take her to the Crillon Ball in Paris, but he wouldn´t hear of it. Naturally, I will try to change his mind. With those eyes and that face she will take Paris by storm."

"Unfortunately, she is also old enough to get into trouble if not properly guided," Max remarked.

"Terrible, isn ´t it? God knows that poor girl will never find a suitable husband, worthy of her name and upbringing, buried in the country and prancing around dressed like _that_! Who knows what kind of company she and the other children have been keeping!"

"Since when are you an expert in childcare, my dearest Elsa?" he provoked.

"I don´t have to be, and I don´t ever intend to be. Elizabeth is not a child and I have that sweet little thing called _money_, darling, remember? I can _pay_ for that kind of help I need. That, and I also have a cunning mind of my own. In fact, I have a few ideas I would love to discuss with you later. What do you think of that ballroom, by the way?"

Elsa continued chatting until they reached the drawing room, where more surprises waited for them.


	37. Chapter 37

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 37**

_**An unexpected gift**_

**ooo**

"_**If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."**_

_**Sun Tzu**_

**ooo**

"_**The hills are alive  
>With the sound of music,<br>With songs they have sung,  
>For a thousand years.<br>The hills fill my heart,  
>With the sound of music.<br>My heart wants to sing every song it hears.**_

_**My heart wants to beat like the wings**_  
><em><strong>Of the birds that rise from the lake<strong>_  
><em><strong>To the trees.<strong>_  
><em><strong>My heart wants to sigh<strong>_  
><em><strong>Like a chime that flies<strong>_  
><em><strong>From a church on a breeze,<strong>_  
><em><strong>To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls<strong>_  
><em><strong>Over stones on its way<strong>_  
><em><strong>To sing through the night,<strong>_  
><em><strong>Like a lark who is learning to pray."<strong>_

_**Rodgers & Hammerstein – The Sound of Music**_

**ooo**

_A few moments earlier…_

"Now, where were we? Hah!" he exclaimed, remembering Louisa´s scarf in his hand. He held it up to his eye level.

"Where, may I ask, did the children get these – uh...? He was holding the piece of cloth between his thumb and forefinger, and looking at it like if it was something slimy enough to make him nauseous.

"Play clothes," she provided evenly.

It was obvious, even to her, that such kind of wear was unheard of in an aristocratic family such as his. Well, he had only himself to blame. If he had even listened to her about the need for suitable clothes, she would never have needed to resort to such extremes. While she was growing up, _anything_ could be made into clothes – old curtains, old tablecloths, old linen, so there was nothing out of the ordinary about fact in itself. Naturally she was not naïve to believe that things were not the same in rich families, but it was an emergency situation, and she had to use what she had at hand.

Naturally, he was deaf to all her possible defenses.

"Oh, is that what you call them?" he asked, sardonically.

Yes, she knew that from his half smile and his deceptively playful tone that there was a lot more trouble to come, but she still managed to keep her cool, calm voice.

"I made them - from the drapes that used to hang in my bedroom."

There it was, another confident, slow and sure answer. Sometimes, the best weapon was the truth. Although Maria had never been to war, that was a little something she had learned in life.

"Drapes!" he exclaimed incredulously, flinging the scarf aside with unexpected violence, as, apparently his worst suspicions came true. She admitted that she expected him not to like her brilliant idea for the children´s clothes, but he was reacting like if it was his worst nightmare coming true, a horrid abomination.

"They still had plenty of wear left. The children have been _everywhere_ in them," she added meaningfully, keeping her voice even.

His ire only grew.

"_Oh Lord, this is not working!_" She meant to disconcert him with the truth, not to anger him even more, if that was possible.

"Do you mean to tell me that _my_ children have been roaming about _Salzburg_ dressed up in nothing but some old _drapes_?"

"Salzburg did not seem to mind what they were wearing, Captain." He took a step closer to her, and still she tried not to flinch. "Oh, you should see them, they were so happy! And they became very popular, everyone smiled and waved at them. "_There go Captain von Trapp´s children", _they would say."

He gasped.

"Fräulein, do let me try to get the full picture of this. Did you take my children to the _Altstadt_ dressed like that? Did they walk up and down the _Getreidegasse_ dressed like tattered urchins?"

"Mm-hm. Much better than unhappy little marching machines, don´t you think? They had a marvelous time! I did tell you in my telegram, didn´t I?"

He crossed his arms over his massive chest.

"Are you being iconoclastic _on purpose?_"

"I beg your pardon?" She mimicked his gesture, crossing her arms too and facing him steadily.

"Irreverent. Nonconforming. _Difficult_."

"Oh, I know only too well what that means!" One hand flew to her head. "Hmmm… I think Sister Berthe might have applied that word to me before. When I first entered the Abbey, she said I sometimes acted like a heathen…"

"Fräulein!" he yelled.

She shrugged, unaffected by his loud tone of voice.

"I suppose I am, Captain, but _you_ asked for it. You left me no alternative. I tried to talk to you twice before you left, but you would not listen."

"I had no wish to. They have _uniforms_!" His penetrating gaze was just beginning to affect her in the strangest possible way, even though she knew there was hardly more than anger in its depths.

"Straitjackets, if you'll forgive me."

"I will _not_ forgive you for that." The elegant irony was gone from his voice now.

She chose to answer in the same tone, and raised her voice slightly.

"Captain, with all due respect, I take that back. I am not really asking for your forgiveness. When I was sent here, the Reverend Mother said that I would not have to worry, because I would not be in one of your battleships and..."

"And?"

"Well, she happened to be _wrong_!"

"So now you are rebelling against your Reverend Mother as well!" He sounded incredulous. "Tell me, what exactly what are you planning to do to the poor woman when you return to that Abbey?"

"Nothing at all! I never considered myself to be a rebel, Captain, but when I see something wrong I do have to say or do something about it."

"Ah ha! But you do not know when to stop, do you?"

She took a deep, calming breath.

"They have uniforms, and answer to whistles. They march…"

"You may not be aware of it, but marching is the best exercise there is, Fräulein…"

"… and stand in a straight line in the order of their age. They read treaties on military history. Frankly, Captain! Your methods may have been right for our glorious Navy, but when applied to children they are completely disastrous."

"_Disastrous?"_

Immediately, she concluded that she was facing a man who was not exactly used to be told in the face that he was wrong about something.

"Yes, Captain. Your methods are completely wrong, outdated _and_ unnatural."

There, she had said it. That was, more or less, the full extent of what she thought about the running of his household, especially where his children were concerned.

"Hah! You! How dare you to question my methods? You, who most certainly does not know the first thing about raising a family!" The comment hit a sore spot, and she flinched visibly. "I thought so," he said, when he noticed her reaction.

"I am a trained teacher!" she exclaimed. "You must have read my references, I attended the Progressive School in Vienna," her voice trembled.

Taking advantage of her sudden vulnerability, he continued.

"Tell me, isn´t the strict discipline you chose _voluntarily_ to live by just as outdated as my uniforms and whistles? Why is that hideous black habit you wear more adequate than their sailor suits?"

"Because…"

Her eyes opened and closed again – yes, he had a point, and for a moment, her mind was nothing but a huge blank. Her throat tightened, and to her horror, she felt as if she was about to cry, something that she rarely did.

"_Because_…" she repeated, as he did nothing but to stare ominously at her.

Although he had hurt her with his words, more deeply than she cared to admit, she knew _why_ he had done it. Maria knew the feeling well. She too had been pushed too far, and, whenever that happened, words began pouring out of her mouth without any control, her voice louder and louder.

The answer came to her, and she felt her confidence return as she retorted.

"_Because they are children! _Ehm…Children cannot do all the things they're supposed to do if they have to worry about spoiling their precious clothes all the time. Children should run, not march, they should roll in the grass and climb trees, build castles with rocks and…"

"I haven't heard them complain yet," he spat.

"Oh well, they wouldn't dare. They _love_ you too much. They fear you too much."

"Fräulein, my children have always been and will always be a credit to my name."

"Not like this, Captain, they aren´t!"

"I realize you may not be familiar with our way of life, considering where you come from, but it _is_ a principle in all distinguished homes that…"

It was his condescending inflection of his voice, more than what he had said, that drove her to the edge.

"_Where I come from?_ Oh, you arrogant, conceited, pompous…!"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and what made it worse, and somewhat out of character for her, was that, this time, she _did_ insult him. She was about to end the flow of uncomplimentary words by calling him a presumptuous snob, but her hands covering her own mouth stopped the flow of words just in time. Yet, Captain von Trapp, in spite of his altered state of mind, was too well bred not to realize that he too had gone a little too far.

"I will forget I heard any of that, Fräulein, and in return I ask you to forget what I said before. However – and hear me well, because this shall be my last warning to you - I do not wish to discuss my children in this manner, not with your or anyone else," he said tersely.

"Well, you've _got_ to hear from someone. You're never home long enough."

He clearly resented her accusatory tone, his fists clenched.

"I said I don't want to hear any more from you about my children."

"I know you don't! But you've got to!" He faced her, speechless, and she took full advantage of the brief pause. "Now, take Liesl..."

"You will not say one word about Liesl, Fraulein…"

"She's not a child anymore and if you keep treating her as one you´re going to have a mutiny on your hands."

"O-ho, isn´t she? If your intention is to bring up that despicable aspiring little Nazi, you are wasting your time and mine. _I already know._"

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Oh Lord, is he really a…"

"He _thinks_ he is," he smirked.

"You see? That is precisely the problem, one of these days you're going to wake up and find she's a woman, and you won't even know her. Friedrich is being more protective of her right now than you are!"

"You are doing it again…"

"Yes, _Friedrich_. He's a boy but he wants to be a man like you and there's no one to show him _how_. He is doing the best that he can, but… he is afraid of being himself. He is shy, aloof, he needs your confidence!"

"Don't you dare tell me about my son!"

"Brigitta could tell you about him if you'd let her get close to you. She notices everything. And she always tells the truth, especially when you don´t want to hear it. Yes, she hides behind books all the time, but it is her way of escaping something she is powerless to change."

"Fraulein..."

"Friedrich told me he is interested in Medical School, but Kurt… Kurt is the one who is willing to follow your footsteps in the military. You should see how proud he is when he starts talking about what you did at sea. He idolizes you. Still, he only pretends he's tough not to show how hurt he is when you brush him aside... He is a sensitive boy, he is easily hurt."

"That will do."

"... the way you do all of them. Louisa I don't know about..."

"I said, that will do!"

"... but someone has to find out about her and the little ones just want to be loved. Oh, please, Captain, love them, love them all!"

She finished her speech in a pleading tone, walking towards him. Once more, he seemed completed unaffected.

"I don't care to hear anything further from you about my children!"

"I am not finished yet, Captain!"

"Oh, yes, you are, _Captain_!" Maria looked at him, surprised at his slip of tongue. Before she could say to him that she had been called many things in life before, but never had the privilege and the honor to be addressed as _Captain_, he shook his head impatiently and corrected himself. "… _Fräulein_. Now, you will pack your things this minute..."

Maria wanted to listen to him, but other sounds began to attract her attention. Children's voices raised in song – the von Trapp children.

"_The hills are alive…_"

"_At last,_" she thought. In truth, she had been afraid the children would lose their nerve after the awful scene and forget all about the song for the Baroness. The Captain´s next words, however, quenched the small glimmer of hope that began growing in her heart when she heard the children singing.

"... and _return to the Abbey_…" he was saying.

There, the final verdict. The one she had been expecting, and that had given her courage to fight that final battle with him. A battle she entered convinced that she had nothing to lose, and now, strangely, she felt like she had lost _everything_.

"_With the sound of music..._"

"What's that?" Was his abrupt question when the sounds of the children's voices invaded his brain.

Maria could only state the obvious.

"It's singing."

Yes, it most certainly _was_ singing. What baffled her was that she had been responsible for it. Until that moment, she had not fully realized that she had actually done a superb job coaching those seven children. As far as she could tell, their pitch was nearly perfect, even though they were nervous about performing for the first time in front of strangers. Even Friedrich was managing to keep some measure of control in his changing voice.

"_With songs they have sung..._"

"_I´ve done it. I´ve really, really done it!_" She told herself. Everything else about her task may have turned out to be a disaster, but not this. She had done it alone, without Sister Katherine´s help, without the help of anyone else in the convent. She only would have to share her merit with the children, and she would gladly do so, because for the rest of her life, Maria would remember that moment as the one she realized she was actually _good_ at something.

What an overwhelming feeling it was! She loved the Abbey dearly, but with all she heard from the nuns was criticism. Sometimes their words were kind, when they came from the Reverend Mother or Sister Margaretta, but most of the times, they were merely brutal. Every little flaw was criticized, from her appearance to her behavior. And Maria had tried to behave accordingly, to look accordingly, she really tried to fix everything, but they always found something else that was wrong with her. Yes, the nuns loved to point out everything that was wrong with her. Very rarely she was told about what she was doing _right_. Looking back, years later, she would realize that it was a miracle that she left the convent with her self confidence intact.

But this…

Now she needed not to be told, she was _listening_ to it, to something she had done right and excelled at. So much that she knew for certain that she was about to render the illustrious Captain Georg von Trapp absolutely speechless.

"Yes, I realize it's singing but _who_ is singing?" he interrupted her thoughts.

"_For a thousand years_..."

"The children."

She had stated the obvious again, and yet, it was evidently far from obvious to the Captain.

"The children?" He whispered. Astonished, he turned his head towards the house.

"_The hills fill my heart..._"

"I taught them something to sing for the Baroness," she started to explain, but he was hardly listening to her. He strode to the house.

Mutely, she watched him go, not daring to think about what could happen next.


	38. Chapter 38

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 38**

_**Decipher me or I shall devour you**_

**ooo**

"_**Without music life would be a mistake." **_

_**Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche**_

**ooo**

"_**Are we not formed, as notes of music are,  
>For one another, though dissimilar?"<br>**_

_**Percy Bysshe Shelley**_

**ooo**

_The worst_ had happened.

The fact that _the worst_ was that she was just told to pack her things and return to the Abbey immediately still defied an explanation.

As disturbing as it was, Maria just had to recognize that Nonnberg was beginning to appear less like a safe harbor and more like a gilded cage to her. It was not a very nice feeling, like if the ground was disappearing beneath her feet. She felt… _rejected,_ first by the nuns and now by a fine Austrian family. Well, at least by the insufferable, impossible, pig-headed man who was the head of the family – she couldn´t think of enough adjectives to apply to Captain von Trapp, none of them very flattering.

The sad remaining truth was that if the religious world did not want her, neither did the secular world with all its intricate rules of behavior and all the unexpected emotional turmoil. She had lived most of her life with the certainty that the life in a cloister was the right one for her, the _only_ one for her. Why did she feel so sad because she was being sent back to it, to the place she had never wanted to leave in the first place?

"_It is the house,_" she thought. "_It must be the house… What can I do, I´m only human after all!_"

It did not matter that she was destined to live an ascetic life. Maria did not think that _anyone_ would not be impressed by it, least of all someone like her, who had never lived comfortably before. As shallow as it may appear, she would miss having a bedroom of her own with – the luxuries of all luxuries – a bathroom of her own as well. She would miss having two dresses to choose from. Yet, it was not the small comforts that the wealthy von Trapps provided her she would miss. She would miss the sheer beauty of the villa and its surroundings, of those gardens, the gazebo where she used to go whenever she had a moment to herself to read or write her thoughts on her journal; or to simply _think_ about how wonderfully interesting life was when you had a challenge to face. In the future, she was certain that there would be days when she would wake up wondering why she wasn´t smelling coffee and freshly baked bread, because those were the scents she usually woke up to at the villa.

She had spent only three weeks in that house, with those children and until the Captain said those dismissive words to her, she had no idea how much she was going to miss everything about it - most importantly, the affection of those seven children.

Oh yes, she would do just fine without a bathroom of her own, without a beautiful garden or a gazebo where she could read, write or meditate. However, there had to be much more to the whole experience the Reverend Mother had sent her to than just that, more than just having a little taste of what it was like to live in the lap of luxury. Perhaps that was the reason why she had never felt so depressed before in her life – she hadn´t fulfilled her mission. Being sent back to the convent in such an abrupt, harsh manner had indeed been the worst thing that ever happened to her. The inner joy she had felt when she heard the children singing in a way that had been more than enough to impress their distant father had been overshadowed by his parting words to her.

It wasn´t like she had a choice in the matter. She could not just walk to him and _demand_ that he keep her in his service. If the Captain wanted her out of his sight, if his decision was final, her only alternative would be to leave immediately. She was nothing to him, nothing at all. Realistically, she had to acknowledge that to him she was even less than the other members of the household staff, some of which came from families that had worked for the von Trapps for several generations. In a week or two, they would completely forget her existence. She would only be a number to them – _the twelfth governess_.

Gloomily, she realized that she had allowed herself to be carried away by the fairy tale, the illusion of having a family of her own, a beautiful house surrounded by a breathtaking landscape – something that she had always dreamed about in secret. Now everything had vanished in thin air, like a cloud of smoke. The pain wasn´t like anything she had ever felt.

"_Now, you will pack your things this minute and return to the Abbey_."

"All right," she shrugged, compliantly.

Well, he was right about one thing – she had so few belongings that she could finish her packing in that same minute if she so wished. She would scurry past him and her fast legs would carry her to her bedroom where she would grab her few possessions. Then, she would be out of the house before the children could finish their song.

It wasn´t, however, what she chose to do. There was one more thing she had to do, something she had to witness with her own eyes.

Her one, small victory.

There was one final thing she needed to convince herself of before she left for good: that the few weeks she had spent with the children had not been in vain, that she had accomplished _something, _even if that _something_ was the slightest glimmer of pride in their father's eyes.

Swallowing a huge lump in her throat – something that she did not remember feeling since she had left the house of her foster parents when she was fifteen -, Maria watched the Captain walking away from her and into the house. He never looked back, and she was glad that he did not – she feared that she would crumble if he did, so fragile was her self control in those first moments. He looked even taller and unapproachable, if possible. It was enough to make her wonder why on earth she still thought of him as devilishly handsome, even after he had treated her so badly.

The only thing she could do was to resort to her good old optimism and try to see the positive side of things. In her mind, she desperately searched for it, until she found it.

"_He called you _Captain_. Even in his anger, he respected you somehow."_

Yes, that was true, but Captain von Trapp would always be a puzzle to her. How could it be otherwise – he was utterly impossible to read. He was a master in the art keeping his thoughts and emotions to himself just as she was a master in the fine art of… climbing trees. Captain von Trapp was puzzle that she would never be able to solve, and, quite frankly, no longer had any wish to do so, even though she would remain forever curious.

What was it that the Sphinx said to King Oedipus?

"_Decipher me or I shall devour you."_

The exact words she did not remember, but she remember that they meant that if the king did not solve the puzzle, the Sphinx would kill and devour him. It was like it had felt to her, although she sensed that Captain von Trapp would devour her whether she deciphered him or not. All she had to do would be to cross his path again.

Well, Maria hadn´t been able to solve the riddle that was Captain von Trapp. She wasn´t certain that it was a bad thing at all, because something told her that he was a dangerous puzzle to solve, that her life would never be the same if she went that far. She was just too unsophisticated and perhaps a little too naïve to deal with the complexities of his character. The extent of his grief was something incomprehensible to her. She had not been able to convince him that his children needed his love and attention more than anything in the world – even a new mother. Like the Sphinx, he had been merciless, by punishing her in "_the worst_" possible way.

Resigned to her fate, all she wanted to do now was just what she had been told: to go upstairs, pack her meager belongings and leave immediately.

Oh she was sure it would all pass, that awful anguish and that strange heartache. Once she was in the Abbey, protected by the Mother Abbess's gentle guidance, she would forget everything else and start focusing in her future as a cloistered Benedictine nun again. Maybe she had learned enough to be able to curb her tongue in order to avoid the infamous _kissing the floor _punishment with Sister Berthe… As soon as she was back to her old routine again, "_the worst_" would not feel like "_the worst_" anymore, but "_the best". _She would be able to move on towards her chosen path in life with another valuable lesson learned. That meant that she could defeat the Sphinx after all! If it was a fact that they would forget her, then it could also be true that she would forget them as well. It would be sad, but it would be better this way, safer for her peace of mind.

Encouraged by that thought, Maria smiled, and raised her eyes to the man that was about to stride into the house.

The Captain ran to the sound of the children's singing, she merely walked, slowly, following him several steps behind, savoring the sound of their voices, bracing herself for his reaction when he saw them. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew that she should have walked around the house and use the servant's door in the back, considering, most of all, the fact that her still dripping wet dress would make a mess in the elegant _foyer_ of the Trapp Villa. It was too late to start caring about that anyway.

"_What can he say that is worse than he has already said, not only to me, but to his children?_" she asked herself. He certainly could not fire her _again_ for ruining his spotless marble floors or his Persian carpets, not anymore.

When she finally reached the door to the drawing room, Maria could hardly believe her eyes – or her ears. Even in her first days in Aigen, when she still felt she could conquer the world with the sound of her voice and the children's voices, even then she would not have been able to imagine something like this. The children were there, standing in a choir. Their appearance was flawless enough to pass muster in a military inspection, their sailor suites impeccable, their hair neatly combed. Her heart was swelling with pride, and she could only hope that if their father would be proud of them in that moment as well – that is, if he had a heart too. Even if he was proud of them, he would never admit it.

Maria was proven wrong almost instantly – just another indication of how complex her employer was. To her dismay, he was doing much more than just confessing that he was proud of his children.

Captain Georg von Trapp was _singing_!

"_I go to the hills  
>When my heart is lonely.<br>I know I will hear  
>What I heard before.<br>My heart will be blessed  
>With the sound of music<br>And I'll sing once more."_

He was singing with the children!

More precisely, _to_ the children, because the seven of them were so astounded that at first that at first they did nothing but stare mutely at him.

It was not only had the fact that he had joined the children in song amazed her, but the fact that his voice was _not bad at all_. Her jaw dropped in frank admiration, all of her worries forgotten. Naturally he was probably much better at sinking enemy ships, shouting orders to his crew, or – as she had heard innumerous times from different sources – playing the piano. He was certainly an expert in terrorizing governesses – the children had undoubtedly learned from a master, and worse, they had inherited his genes. His singing, however, was good enough to impress her, or, at least, to provoke some _very interesting_ feelings.

The infuriating sea captain had yelled and barked at her. He had applied a few very unflattering, polysyllabic adjectives to her person. He had mocked the path she had chosen for her life, and had _dared_ to compare it to the discipline he imposed upon his children. Not even Sister Berthe, in her worst moments of anger, had treated her like that.

Yet…

There was an indisguisable softness in his deep, grave voice when he sang that she had never heard before in the few occasions when he had spoken to her when his tone was usually harsh and clipped. Well, the pitch was not exactly perfect, it needed some work, she noted knowingly. He was still a bit hesitant, and that was probably due to the fact that he hadn't used his vocal chords for singing in a very long time.

"_I _could_ fix that_," she thought, proudly.

She would know exactly what to do, and she would do it well.

"_If he would only let me… A few exercises and maybe he would be good enough to sing at the Festspiele. Oh Maria, what are you thinking? _You,_ helping Captain von Trapp improve his vocal skills when he made clear enough that he never wanted to see your face again? Worse, imagining Captain von Trapp performing in the stage of a musical festival! No, he would laugh in your face if you as much suggested this ludicrous idea. He would start by calling it ridiculous, preposterous, unthinkable, or any other one of those long words he seems to be so fond of!_"

In spite of it all, it was, first and foremost still the sight of a father singing with his children, a father who had distanced himself from them because of the depth of his grief that tugged at her heart, and made her leave her own anger aside. Tears that she was fighting so hard to repress threatened to fall.

"_No! __I will _not_ cry in this house_, _no matter what happens,_" she whispered to herself.

Perhaps it was petty of her, but she also did not wish to give him the pleasure of seeing her losing her precarious emotional balance and succumbing to tears. It would be just what _he_ would have expected of a sentimental female such as herself. No, she would not give him the pleasure, the ultimate victory – that is, if she ever had a chance to face him again before leaving. She doubted, nonetheless, that he would grant her another second of his time, whether she asked for it or not.

But it was too late – he had already seen her by the door. She tried to hide, but just wasn't quick enough, not for a man trained to see what he wanted to see. She had to flee while she still could.

Running up the stairs, Maria disappeared through the hallway that led to her bedroom before he could catch her.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I**

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 39**

_**The Sound of Music**_

**ooo**

"_**Singing I was at peace,  
>Above the clouds, outside the <strong>__**ring**__**:  
>For sorrow finds a swift release in song<br>And **__**pride**__** its poise."  
><strong>__**  
>Cecil Day Lewis <strong>_

**ooo**

"_**What passion cannot music raise and quell!"**_

_**John Dryden**_

**ooo**

"_**Music, when soft voices die  
>Vibrates in the memory –"<br>**_

_**Percy Bysshe Shelley**_

**ooo**

Captain von Trapp slowed his pace, as he was about to reach the door to the drawing room, completely oblivious of the fact that the governess was following him a few steps behind. He was greeted with the sight of his seven children, wearing their uniforms, singing for Max and the Baroness.

They were not standing in a straight line, as he would have ordered them to, but as if in a choir. Their hair was still damp from the fall in the lake, but all of them were neatly combed. The girls had satin ribbons in their hair. The boy's posture was flawless enough to make any military father proud. Most importantly, there was no sign of the offending play clothes, they were wearing their impeccably clean uniforms. Liesl had the governess´s guitar, and she was playing a few chords, just enough help them follow the song.

They all looked so… _serious._

_Disciplined_.

It was not the same stance when he made them stand in a straight line. There was an intensity in their little faces, a seriousness, especially in those of the little ones that baffled him. It was almost like they not only enjoyed, but _loved_ what they were doing, like they were completely engaged in the task of doing their best to impress his guests. With him in command, sometimes they looked like if they were facing a firing squad… They usually obeyed him, most of the times without even questioning, but they always looked so _miserable_, even when the activity he had planned for them was something children would usually enjoy.

Their small audience was also something to see. Max was clearly impressed, his jaw dropped open. Elsa appeared to be somewhat touched by the simple song, and not bored as he would expected her to in a situation like this. He did not recall seeing either of them so _fascinated_ before, certainly not because of a group of children.

"_How on earth had she done it?_" he had to ask himself. "_How?_"

The little Fräulein did not have a shred of discipline of her own, and yet she had succeeded in teaching the children a song in at least _four voices_.

Simple Austrian songs and play clothes instead of whistles and uniforms…

In a crazy, inexplicable way, it had worked. Beautifully so.

_Music…_

Suddenly, he did not remember the reason why he had banished music from the house, from his life.

_Three years without music… _

Three years attending concerts across Europe with Max and Elsa – when he could not avoid it – but pretending not to listen, fighting himself in order not to enjoy, focusing his mind in anything else, but in the sounds were coming from the stage. Three years attending musical soirées in the homes of his friends in Vienna, and coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to leave the room as soon as the musical part of the evening began. Three years trying to convince himself that he hated any kind of harmonious sound produced by an instrument, or a human voice.

"_What did you think of the _Wierner Philharmoniker_ tonight, my dear Captain? Our young von Karajan was superb, wasn't he? Has Beethoven ever sounded more alive to you?_"

And to the poor, misguided, innocent soul who dared to ask a question like that in his worst, bitter days, he would answer with his usual biting irony:

"_Oh yes. Alive and certainly glad that he was deaf so that he would not be able to hear it_!"

Granted, Beethoven was certainly one of the greatest musical geniuses of all time, but he had never been Georg´s favorite, so that it never so hard to criticize his work, even in such a flawless performance. He certainly would feel a bit of a heavy conscience, because he had been utterly unfair to one of Salzburg's most illustrious conductors and to one of the best orchestras in the world. Nonetheless, he would certainly envy old Ludwig if he were alive. Sometimes he wished he were deaf, in order not to be able to listen.

No, Beethoven wasn't the problem, and least of all Salzburg's own Herbert von Karajan (1).

The _music_ was the problem.

_Music… _

Something that, in his past, had been as vital to him as breathing, as essential to his being as his wife´s love… Music, the sea and Agathe, the elements upon which his whole life was centered.

For music, he nearly gave up his Naval career. The choice between the sea and his piano had been the most painful decision he ever had to make in his life, although he knew it even then it had been the right one. He loved the sea just as much as he loved music, but he had loved his wife more than anything else. Without the Navy, he would not have met Agathe, he would not have his children. Without Agathe and the children, he would not have been able to keep music a constant presence in his life… at least until the day she died in his arms.

He did not know, could not have known, if he would ever become a musician brilliant enough to please the most demanding of the critics, and he could very well live with that knowledge without any regrets. He knew, however, that he could not imagine his life without Agathe or the children, and the music they used to create and enjoy together. Of all the wrong decisions he had made in the past three years, shutting himself to the sound of music that had to be the stupidest one – he had banished the only thing that was constant in his life, the safe harbor to which he could always return to.

_The best part of himself…_

Stealing a glance at his own fingers, he flexed them and wondered if it wasn't too late. He wondered if he would be able to play his piano as he used to long ago. When he lost the Navy, it was in music that he would drown his sorrows when Agathe was too busy with the children to keep him company. He used to play for hours and hours. O-ho, the governess would not agree with him, of course. She would certainly come up with some insufferably illuminating, irritatingly optimistical remark she had memorized from one of the Reverend Mother´s many lectures only to tell him that it was never too late to try.

Would she be right, he wondered?

He never played for an audience, except for his family and a close circle of friends. He had never actually played accompanied by an orchestra before, mostly because he would not feel too well performing in public. His von Trapp ancestors would simply start rolling in their graves if he even _dared _to consider the idea. Still, he wanted to be as accurate and perfect as he could, every wrong note he hit made him wince, sometimes curse loudly. He demanded perfection of himself when he played for himself or his friends, but when he played for Agathe, he did it just for the sake of simply enjoying the music.

Fondly, he recalled the first and only time he had the rare opportunity of playing with an orchestra. Once he had walked into a friend of his who conducted one of the many chamber orchestras in Salzburg, and he was invited to attend a rehearsal. Their pianist had fallen ill at the last minute, and the maestro immediately invited him to play with them - Mozart's Piano Concerto n.o 21. It was a closed rehearsal, and he did not resist the temptation. The result was one of the most exhilarating experiences of his life.

Today, he wondered if he would be able to follow that chamber orchestra without making a complete fool of himself, without stumbling upon the notes that, not so long ago, would come so naturally to him.

Thoughts echoed in his mind.

"_I chose all the wrong weapons, I thought wine and women would obliterate my grief, I nearly became the kind of man I despise the most. Elsa saved me from it, but until now I hadn´t realized… __I thought music could deepen the hurt. I was wrong."_

The wonder of it was that the realization had not come to him in a prestigious concert hall, to the sound of Bach or Mozart. It came with the sound of a simple Austrian mountain tune sung by his seven children. Agathe´s children.

"_The hills fill my heart_

_With the sound of music  
>My heart wants to sing every song it hears<br>My heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds  
>That rise from the lake to the trees<em>…"

Not wishing to disturb them, and longing to hear some more, he took a small step back, hiding from their sight, by the doorway. He started nodding to the beat, and whispering the lyrics.

He knew that song, and very well. It wasn't one of the songs he used to sing with his wife and the children, since they preferred songs that were related to the life at sea. But he remembered that one well from a past long forgotten, from his early childhood.

_"My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies_

_From a church on a breeze_

_To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls over_

_Stones on its way…"_

In spite of himself, he smiled and walked into the room. Before the rational part of his brain could take over, he joined in.

"_I go to the hills when my heart is lonely…_"

Everyone gaped at him, astonishment and awe evident in their faces – even Max's and Elsa´s. The children exchanged amazed glances between then. Their voices died as they stopped singing to listen to him.

They were surrounded by the most beautiful countryside on earth, and all they had been able to enjoy it lately was the grounds of their own house, always marching and breathing deeply.

God, how long had it been, since the last time he had taken the children to the hills at walking distance from the house?

He remembered it well – they had gone on a picnic, just a few days before his wife started to feel ill. She had carried along her inseparable violin, as she always did, and they had spent hours under the sun, singing. They were having so much fun that Agathe simply forgot about her cumbersome hat after a while, and the result had been a badly sunburned nose. His reassurances that she looked absolutely lovely like that had been entirely useless, and later that night she was upset by the fact that she would probably have a few freckles on her delicate English skin.

"_My mother is simply going to swoon the next time she sees me_," she had exclaimed, gazing forlornly at her image in the mirror. "_A lady never ever goes out in public without her hat. That is what she's been telling me ever since I was in the cradle! I should have carried a parasol with me, but even that I forgot. How clumsy of me! It was either a parasol or my violin, and I would not leave my _violin_ behind!_"

As for him, the most vibrant memory was how, in that same night after the picnic, he proceeded to show her how much _he_ would certainly not mind a few freckles marring her porcelain skin.

Frau Whitehead, on the other hand, had not exactly swooned, but had been scandalized by the sight of her daughter's sunburned face. The next time she came for a visit, Agathe was already bedridden in the early days of the illness that would end up taking her life. Naturally, his mother in law blamed what they believed in those days to be a minor indisposition on the fact that her daughter had spent an indecent amount of time in the sun.

"_You certainly do not look like a lady, Agathe. What have you done to yourself? You look like… like a _mountain girl! _You look like the wife of a farmer, not like the wife of a hero of Austria!"_

She _did_ look like a mountain girl; he smiled inwardly when his mother-in-law said that. Not exactly like the mountain girl who had taught his children to sing, but a mountain girl nonetheless. No, Fräulein Maria did not seem to mind a single one of her freckles, did not seem to care if they made her look less like a lady.

"_I know I will hear what I've heard before…_"

Yes, since she had died, he knew what he would hear if he climbed up there without her again. He would hear her playing the violin, he would hear her complaining about her sun burned nose and how unladylike it looked…

"_My heart will be blessed with the sound of music_

_And I'll sing once more_…"

It occurred to him that maybe he should take his children back to the hill, this time with a mountain girl to guide them. They would be carrying a guitar, decorated with rainbow colored ribbons, instead of an expensive violin. Maybe the sight his children singing and frolicking in the mountains would be a stronger image to him than that of their mother with a sunburned nose, the last time they were up there…

"_You already sent your mountain girl packing, you bloody fool_!" he cursed inwardly.

He realized that maybe, just maybe, sending the little Fräulein away so quickly, without as much as giving her a good chance of defending herself and her views, had been a decision as stupid as cutting music from his life had been. He still did not fully approve of her methods, he still had strong opinions about her suitability for the job, but he had to admit that she had accomplished _something_, and he could not let her go before he knew why and how.

He always considered himself to be a fair commander. As far as he knew, he was known as one. He had never dismissed a subordinate, or even a household employee, without as much as giving them at least a chance to explain themselves, or ultimately a second chance to prove him wrong. With Fräulein Maria, it had been the first time he had done that. He had acted passionately and impulsively, allowing a side of him that he believed dead to take over.

All he wanted to do was to give in to another impulse and run to the governess and fix his mistake as quickly and effectively as possible, but Brigitta was already running over to him. The rest of the children soon followed, and for the first time since the day of that picnic, he felt them hugging him. The little ones did to without any hint of fear of rejection, but the older ones hesitated and still held themselves back a little. A few playful nudges solved the problem, and he knew he had won them over when he heard Friedrich´s open laugher – another sound he had not heard in three years!

With the corner of his eye, he detected a motion by the door. When he turned his head to look, it was already too late, but there was time enough for him to see the governess retreating.

"Hah!" he exclaimed. Before he could go after her, his children surprised him, and the guests, once more. The gesture distracted him, and he stopped in his tracks to watch the scene develop. From somewhere behind a chair, Gretl took a small bouquet of wildflowers and gave it to Elsa.

"Edelweiss!" she exclaimed, as Gretl performed a graceful curtsy.

His first immediate reaction had been a brief impatient grimace. Fräulein Maria obviously did not take a simple "_no_" for an answer. He wondered if she even knew the exact meaning of the word. She had insisted upon the silly little flowers, upon what he had once called a hopelessly romantic gesture.

He forgot all about whatever he was thinking when he saw Elsa's reaction. His eyes widened when the saw his future bride _hugging _his youngest daughter.

The fact that he was never even able to imagine Elsa at ease with his children used to be a constant source of worry to him, now that he was convinced that she was the best choice for a wife. In fact, he had brought her to Aigen only to see her reaction to the children, and their reaction to her, before he could make his final decision. Now, she was _hugging_ one of them as if Fräulein Maria's song and flowers had awakened in her the motherly instincts she probably never possessed.

"_Ask yourself _why _she is hugging Gretl,_" he commanded himself.

The music, the flowers… All the answers led back to the governess he once knew as _the Black Sheep of Nonnberg_.

Elsa's voice brought him back to earth once more. "You never told me how _enchanting_ your children are."

What could he say?

He did not know what to say.

"_Neither did I,_" would be an appropriate answer, perhaps. But all he could do was to shake his head and grin like an idiot. Lately he had heard many adjectives applied to his children, especially by the previous eleven governess. "_Enchanting"_ was certainly never mentioned before.

He looked at the doorway again, and saw that she was no longer there, hiding. He saw her fleeing towards the stairs.

"Don't go away," he whispered to the children, although that some crazy part of him knew that those words were meant for their governess.

"_Don´t go. Tell me your secret,_" his heart whispered. "_If it is daffodils that you love, I will cover the ground you walk upon with them if you just tell me… Who are you? What is it about you? What is your secret? How do you do it? I must know…"_

He remembered how scathingly he had called her "_a gift from heaven"_ the first time he spoke about his governess to Max. The last thing he would ever have imagined is that those words would come back to haunt him. No, she had far too many faults to be compared to any heavenly creatures, but perhaps his musings when he compared her to mythological nymphs and goddesses had not been that fat fetched at all.

He strode quickly out of the room but saw nothing but an empty foyer. Fräulein Maria was nowhere to be seen.

_A/N: (1) According to my brief research, Herbert von Karajan first conducted the Vienna Philharmonic in the early 1930´s._


	40. Chapter 40

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I **

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 40**

_**There is a first time for **__**everything**_

**ooo**

"_**Strong men can always afford to be gentle." **_

_**Elbert Hubbard **_

**ooo**

"_There is a first time for _everything,_" _he hissed, making his way towards the foyer once more.

The main trouble was that there had been too many "_firsts_" lately, and that was enough to make him uncomfortably edgy. The first time he was bringing a woman he intended to marry to meet his children. The first time he hired an unqualified young governess: the utterly inadequate, boisterous, impetuous and at the same time – as odd as it was - charmingly guileless Fräulein Maria. Now, for the first time, he would have to take back a few things he had said, and apologize to her.

It would not be pleasant, it would be a serious blow to his pride, but it had to be done. Georg von Trapp had an innate sense of justice, and was well known for it, even behind the enemy lines. At the same time, he was a man of strong opinions, and he was _not_ used to apologizing, or taking back anything said before, for the simple reason that he rarely said or did anything without rationalizing first, without… _strategizing_. Whenever these two very prominent aspects of his personality clashed, he found himself in a deep, inner conflict.

It was definitely a conflict he was facing now.

He had not been his usual self when he clashed with the twelfth governess earlier. His passionate side had taken over completely. Unknowingly, the little Fräulein had pushed too many buttons at once, had kicked him where it hurt the most, notably when she had implied that he did not love his children. Had he behaved rationally – and gentlemanly - by allowing her to go inside and change into dry clothes, he would have had time to consider all the facts and regain full control of himself. But _no_, he wanted to lash out at her at that moment, while his temper still flared. He worried too much at the fact that he would be giving her an advantage, and he did not stop to think for a second that his own fiery temper would play against him, thus putting _him_ in disadvantage.

The result was disastrous for both of them.

Indeed, she had said a few quite unforgivable things about him. Some of her accusations and name calling had been outrageous and utterly unfair, but part of it, as much as he hated to admit, was… _true._ He still did not think she was completely right, but she did force him to swallow the truth about certain things that were going on in his house and ultimately in his life. For that, at least, he would have to thank her.

Yes, she had hit her mark, while she gazed at him in a fashion he found _disconcerting_. Oddly enough, that too was another _first_. Never before he had seen a woman with such an unguarded expression, a face in which he read a wide range of emotions, some of which he doubted she was fully aware of herself. An anger top match his own, undoubtedly, but so many other things he did not wish to consider at the moment, emotions that he wasn´t quite certain how he would deal with in the future if he as much as dared to acknowledge them at all. She would certainly have no clue, the sheltered would-be-nun that she was.

Fräulein Maria, he discovered, was an open book - a very dangerous book.

On the other hand, he had been unfair to her, which meant that he should, in theory, make amends. If her eyes had been open and unguarded, he took care that his showed nothing but all the power of his fury.

Yes, he _should_ apologize.

On the other hand, he wasn't at all certain he agreed with her methods, in spite of the results he had just witnessed. He still wasn't sure that if her personality was suited for the task of being a governess to his seven children. He was not certain that Fräulein Maria, with her rambunctious personality, would be able to help preparing his sons and daughters for what the society they lived in expected of them.

He paused, recalling his last thoughts for a moment.

"_Rambunctious"_! Dear God, he was running out of adequate words to describe Fräulein Maria and all her inadequacies!

Regardless, it had nothing to do with her background, her lack of social skills or, least of all, her non aristocratic ancestry. It was simply… _her,_ and her romantic ideas about the world.

"_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens indeed,_" he thought, grimly.

Her methods, however, had decidedly _worked_. _Somehow_ in that ludicrous universe she inhabited, the same universe he felt he was now being dragged to, they proved to be effective.

He had been bracing himself for the moment when the children would meet Elsa, uncertain as he was about their mutual reaction. He had no idea what to expect. He had never discussed the possibility of a second marriage with them. Elsa, on the other hand, was not used to being surrounded by children, at least not seven of them at once. To have his future bride accepting the children and vice-versa was essential for him to make the final decision about marrying her.

To his utter and complete dismay, after the initial shock, Elsa seemed genuinely charmed by the children. Whatever the little Fräulein had done or said to them, he had to admit, it had worked wonders, and he knew for certain that he would never be able to achieve the same result.

The truth was that now he _needed_ her to stay for the moment. Seeing the governess before she left the grounds of the villa was crucial, even if he had to camp outside the door to the bedroom. Naturally he did not have to go to such extremes, when he knew she would necessarily have to use the main stairway before leaving.

It all happened just as he had expected. The only thing he had not counted on was to have Max in his tails. Elsa had been dragged away by the children who wanted to show her the kittens that had been born just two days before. Later he planned to talk to them about a certain rule concerning animals in the house, but at the moment, he was only glad that he had the minimum number of witnesses possible for the scene that would follow.

No, he did not expect it would be easy. She was a proud one, his twelfth governess; she would not concede him victory so easily.

He heard her first, her heavy running footsteps echoing down the hallways upstairs. He grabbed her guitar, which the children had left behind in the drawing room, and practically run to the foyer in order not to miss her, and this time, he was quick enough. When she came into view, he saw that he was indeed running, and had just begun descending the stairs, two steps at a time. His fingers tightened on the guitar.

"_She will not leave without it,_" he considered for a moment, and the thought reassured him in one way or another.

"Stop right there, please!" he said briskly.

She startled, jumping back a couple of steps, looking down at him from somewhere in the middle of the stairs, in that same wide-eyed, disconcerting manner.

"I have a feeling you might be looking for this," he said with a little, apologetic smile, showing her the guitar.

Fräulein Maria did not smile back. Her wary eyes went from the guitar to him, then back to the guitar. Next, she frowned. Her right hand let go of her carpet back, which dropped to the floor with a thud. Her left hand clutched her bosom, as if she was half expecting him to demand some kind of ransom for her precious instrument. Even from a distance, he could tell that she was breathing heavily.

Indubitably, she was distressed, although she was trying her best to appear nonchalant, considering the look of defiance in her eyes, and the way she held her chin up. But her hands betrayed her, as usual – they were not joined together so tightly – probably to keep her fingers from fidgeting - that her knuckles were visibly white.

Fortunately, she was not crying, nor there were signs of unshed tears in her eyes. It was good, because he would not be able to deal with a sobbing governess – he'd had enough of those among the previous eleven he had hired. He found it difficult enough as it was now, with her looking composed like that, not only because he would have to apologize to her, but also because he felt the most absurd desire to… _comfort _her. It was an absurdly idiotic idea, because no matter how open minded about social different he believed himself to be, he knew that employers did not simply hug governesses whenever they felt like it.

"Indeed I was, Captain," she spoke at last, clearly making a supreme effort to keep her voice even. "Ehm… Herr…?"

Only then he became fully aware of Max´s presence behind him.

"Detweiler," his friend provided, casting him a cynical glance, which he answered with a cautionary one.

Georg carefully placed the guitar next to the door to the ballroom, feeling her eyes follow his every move.

"_There it is, Fräulein. I will not take your music from you, if that is what you fear,_" he thought.

"Max, this is my children's governess, Fräulein Maria," he said, walking towards the bottom of the stairway again. "Fräulein, this is…" he hesitated, as his lips twitched into a half smile, "_Uncle Max_."

"H… how do you do?" she said, bowing her head slightly.

Now she seemed completely puzzled and bewildered, and it was obvious to him why. He had just introduced her as _his children's governess_, a scant hour after he had fired her in the worst possible manner.

"I am sorry I could not find the case," he said, glancing back at her guitar. "I know there is one, if I remember correctly."

"There is, but… I left it in the…" She rolled her eyes impatiently, as if chastising herself. "I left it in the gazebo yesterday when the children and I were rehearsing."

Only then he realized that, although her short hair was nearly dry, she was still wearing the same wet clothes she had on when she fell on the lake.

"Do you mind explaining the meaning of this?" he asked,


	41. Chapter 41

_**Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.**_

**ooooooo**

**The Sound of Music Chronicles**

**Part I **

**The Twelfth Governess**

**Chapter 41**

_**A wet dress and an apology**_

**ooo**

"_**Is not the most erotic part of the body wherever the clothing affords a glimpse?" **_

_**Roland Barthes**_

**ooo**

"_**A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to want to take it off you." **_

_**Françoise Sagan**_

**ooo**

"_**Of all the things you wear, your expression is the most important." **_

_**Janet Lane**_

**ooo**

"_Do you mind explaining the meaning of this?" _

He was pointing to her sodden skirt.

Maria looked down at herself, thinking that she had been wrong believing that he would not say anything about her walking around the house dripping lake water everywhere. Perhaps he _could_ fire her twice in a day. What would he do now?

The wet clothes had been only the last item in the list of her problems. As she went upstairs to pack, she realized that she had absolutely _nothing_ to wear. All the few dresses she possessed were either dirty or torn, and there was no power on earth that would convince her to look for Frau Poppmeier to see if any of them was already in a wearable condition. While she listening to the children downstairs, going through every song she had taught them in the past weeks, all she could do was to change into some dry underwear and leave. Oh, it would have broken her heart to leave like that, without saying goodbye to them, and leaving her guitar behind.

Naturally she could not reveal that to him. It would be too… humiliating.

"Well, I certainly would appreciate a few explanations myself, Captain," she blurted, in a desperate attempt to change the subject and the focus of his attention.

He had sent her away, hadn't he? Did he plan to hold her guitar hostage for some mad reason? Then why did he introduce her to _Uncle Max_ as the governess? And how _dare_ he question her choice of clothes? What mattered to him if she decided to walk all the way to Switzerland in a wet dress?

"Max, could you give us a moment, please?" he asked Herr Detweiler, without looking away from her.

"Ah, certainly. I'll be in the drawing room. Georg. Fräulein," he bowed politely, leaving the foyer immediately through the drawing room, with the strangest smile in his face.

Now there she was, alone with _him_.

"Fräulein? I believe I asked you a question," he insisted. His voice was insisting, but gentle. He did not yell at her as she would have expected.

"Yes, you did. Oh… well… you told me to pack and leave immediately, and that is what I was doing. Uh – at least that is what I was trying to do. I would never manage to do as you asked if I had to worry about staining your precious carpets."

"Never mind the accursed carpets. What are you still doing in wet _clothes_? Was I right about your self-destructive tendencies and your predisposition for martyrdom, perhaps?"

Maria heard the muffled sound of a giggle coming from the door to the drawing room.

"Max," the Captain said between clenched teeth.

Herr Detweiler´s head appeared from behind the door.

"I couldn´t help overhearing that one. I only would like to know why you are making such a fuss about a wet dress, Georg. The little Fräulein is merely trying to leave the house as you told her to do..." The Captain´s only response was a furious flare, cold enough to make the waters of the lake outside freeze. Naturally Uncle Max caught the meaning of it.

"All right, all right, now _I _am the one who should leave," said Herr Detweiler already disappearing behind the door.

"Now, Fräulein," he turned to her again.

"No, certainly not. Oooh… The truth is that… ehm… oh well," she shrugged, resigned. There was no way out of it; she would have to tell him, as embarrassing as it was. She did so in what she believed was a firm, nonchalant voice.

"I did not have anything else to wear, Reverend Captain."

He raised one patrician eyebrow.

"What about the dresses you made with the fabrics I had sent to you that first day?"

"If you must know…"

Herr Detweiler had a point. Why the fuss? Why was he being so insistent about such a meaningless detail? Why was it so important to him all of a sudden? Less than one hour before he was bellowing in rage that he wanted her out of her sight, and now he was trying to make small talk with her.

Oh, he couldn´t be displeased by the possibility that she might be taking the dresses with her, could he? Well, he needn´t worry about that, he would have his precious dresses to give them whatever destination he had in mind after they were properly washed, ironed, and, in the case of the torn one, mended.

"Indeed I must!"

"Ehm… Very well, if you insist, I will make it all perfectly clear to you with a complete report." When he nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer, she continued. "Brigitta threw up in one of them last night because…" she bit her lips, realizing that she might be placing the poor girl in trouble because she had been reading during dinnertime. "Well, she was quite sick, and she… oh well, you know, you don´t need the graphic details."

"Fräulein…"

"_Believe me,_ Captain, you don´t." She took a breath. "The… the one with the stripes was torn after I got stuck in a tree."

"You found yourself stuck in a tree _again_?" he asked, incredulously, undoubtedly remembering her previous tree incident.

"It was not exactly my fault this time …."

"No, it never is, is it?" he said, as if to himself. She heard his comment, and was not amused – her eyes shot daggers at him. "What about the hideous thing you brought from the convent?"

"I'm afraid it was badly soiled after had to help bringing three kittens into the world the other day…"

"I will certainly want to hear everything about these _kittens_ later, Fräulein." It was odd – he was not being sarcastic, he was not mocking her, he did not even sound _angry_. "Stay where you are for the moment, please," he said, as she motioned to continue descending the stairs.

What made it all more unsettling was the expression in his face when he looked up at her again, after a quick look inside the drawing room to make sure that Herr Detweiler was gone from the premises. He practically looked like another man altogether, a man she did not know in person yet, but had just glimpsed when she saw him singing with the children. Almost like the legendary Captain the children raved about…

"Fraulein..."

_What on earth was going on? _

His words were given him every indication that she had indeed been fired, that the curious little debate about what had happened to her dresses happened only because he was the _Captain_, and he would always want to know everything. Biting her lips, she tried her best to hold his gaze, and discovered, in that instant, that, for some reason, it was a lot easier to do that when he was angry.

"Please," she pleaded bravely. "I don´t know why you are delaying me, Captain, but it will be dark soon. The… my bus leaves in ten minutes, and if I miss it there won't be another one until tomorrow morning. I still have to fetch my guitar case in the gazebo."

"There is no reason to fret; I'll have it fetched for you. Forget the bus," he added, dismissively. "I will drive you myself, if necessary."

"_You?_" She looked absolutely dumbfounded.

"Oh, I assure you, Fräulein, I _can_ drive… Better than you can handle a skiff, at least."

She let out one of outraged little moans.

"_Show off,_" she mumbled. His lips curving into a smile were the only indication that he had heard her. She shrugged, no longer caring if he indeed had.

"I'll drive you to your Abbey if you still wish to go after… after I talk to you."

"But Captain, I don´t understand. You just _fired_ me…"

"Can't you stop being difficult just for a moment, Fräulein?"

"Difficult? _Me_? Forgive me, but it is you who is not making any sense, Captain."

"Then I will make myself perfectly clear, if that is what you wish."

"It is. Thank you."

"It doesn't matter if I fired you or not. I obviously cannot allow you to return to Salzburg in such a state. Not when I gave the Reverend Mother every reassurance that no harm would come to you in this house."

She rolled her eyes in amusement.

"Oh, do not worry, I am not harmed, Captain. This dress will be dry before I even get into the bus. It is quite a walk to the village and by the time I get there I am sure…"

Her voice trailed away, as she caught him staring at her with the most unspeakable expression in his face.

"Captain?"

It was almost as if she were a little daft, as if there was something meaningful about her dress being wet that she did not quite grasp. At the same time, there was something in his eyes that was so intense that she was unable to hold his gaze any longer. Feeling her cheeks grow strangely warm, she lowered her gaze.

He spoke then, very seriously.

"If you _think_ for a moment that I will allow _you_ to wander alone in the dark dressed like _that_, Fräulein, I…"

Her head was bowed low because she had been avoiding his eyes. When he said those words, she saw _exactly_ what he meant; she saw it right in the direction of her eyes. Her head snapped up instantly. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, with an outraged little moan.

How could she have been so naïve, or so distressed that she did not notice her own condition before? What was it about her that, when angry, she would forget everything else except for her anger, even herself? The fabric of her bodice covered her as best as her habit ever would under normal circumstances, but when wet, it was sheer, so that…

"_Oh no, no, no!_" she swallowed. It was so horribly embarrassing. Even now, with the fabric almost dry, her attire was still _revealing,_ to say the least, especially around her bosom.

What was she turning to?

In her first day in the house, she fell on top of Captain von Trapp and was unable to control her hysterical laugher as he tried to disentangle himself from her. Now she was parading in front of him, his guests, and his children, in wet clothes that were horribly revealing. Had he been the only one to notice that? Why anyone else didn't say anything to her until she had to hear it from him?

He seemed to have read her thoughts.

"You don't have to derogate yourself, Fräulein. I tried not to offend your delicate sensitivities, but I failed miserably. I... behaved badly. I apologize," he said softly.

"No, I'm…" At first she was not sure exactly what he was apologizing for – if for their fight or for pointing out the state of her clothes. Among all options, she chose the safest one, for the time being.

"I don´t think I made it any easier for you. I'm far too outspoken. It's one of my worst faults."

He shook his head.

"It is not just that, Fräulein, although we _will_ discuss that matter in a moment. I had no right to… embarrass you about. – uh - your attire. Not when the first thing I heard from you after you fell on the water was a request to go inside and change."

"A request which you denied," she added, accusingly, now self consciously tightening her arms against her chest.

"Guilty as charged. You were right about that and many other things as well." He paused briefly before saying, "I don't know my children."

When she heard the admission that was so evidently painful to him, Maria softened. Her arms relaxed and fell to the side. Maybe she had not vanquished the Sphinx, but maybe she had weakened him a little. There could be hope after all. She held on to the banister, and leaned down a little to talk to him.

"There's still time, Captain. They want so much to be close to you."

"I know… Tell me, am I as difficult as you are, perhaps -Fräulein?" he asked slowly and carefully, almost as if he were bracing herself for another one of her verbal attacks.

She gave him the blunt, honest answer that he clearly expected of her.

"Much more, Captain! At least as far as your children's upbringing is concerned."

"O-ho, yes. You have stated your opinion very, _very_ clearly about that."

"I know I went too far, but as I said, you had to hear it from _someone_!"

Maria took the opportunity to stress her points of view more clearly and less emotionally his time. Ignoring the frown that was once again threatening to appear in his forehead, she continued, this time in a much leveled tone. "Now _you have nothing to lose, Maria – you've lost it all,_" she told herself, before taking a deep breath and using what could be the last opportunity to help that family.

"I may not have much experience with family life, but I have lived enough to know that children belong together with their parents. Naturally, when the father is traveling all the time..." He frowned at her, and the haughty aristocrat again swiftly returned. There was, however, more than just annoyance in his penetrating gaze.

"Fräulein…"

"I am sorry; I did not mean to meddle again. If you could just let me go now… I need to… to catch that bus!"

It was odd, but he seemed to be no longer listening to her babble. But he was looking at her, _really_ looking. Not at the wet dress and what it revealed, but to _her_. Maria did not think anyone had ever gazed at her so attentively before, with such… _wonderment_? Scrutiny?

"_I must be seeing things,_" she thought. _"The lake water I swallowed must have affected my sanity…_"

"I assure you that everything you said will be considered in due time."

"It will?"

"Yes. Congratulations, Fräulein – that is one battle you won. For the moment only, I am not ready to concede you complete victory yet."

"No, I imagine you would not, Captain," was her honest remark.

"There is something else I have in mind, however. Something much more meaningful and important. Something else that _you _have done."

Her heart sank.

"_Now what?_" she asked herself. What else had she done? It had not been the meddling, not the wet floor, not the state of her clothes, not the children's play clothes. That left only…

He provided her with the answer, but not with words she would ever expect to hear from him.

"You've brought... music back into the house. I had forgotten." His eyes were so painfully blue, so expressive when he said that that they _burned_ her. She could not look away.

"_Music?_" she whispered, and tried to bring out her thoughts back to the word, and not in his eyes.

Music was something that was always part of her life, even in the darkest days of her childhood, and she had never stopped for a moment to think what it could mean to live without it. She certainly never had, never even tried to. How could _anyone_ live without music? Yet, the Captain had survived three years pretending that it simply not existed, and, what was worse, keeping his children from enjoying what was obviously a natural talent the whole family possessed. The mysterious grand piano that she was yet to see, locked away a dusty attic, was a symbol of all that – of how much music once meant to this man and his family, and how much it meant for all of them to have it back.

She remember Frau Poppmeier rambling about the piano while they were working on the children's play clothes:

"_Twelve strong men. That was how many of them were needed to lift the piano up there. Since it could not possibly be carried through the narrow stairs to the attic, they had to use the window. It wasn't large enough, so it had to be broken, and part of the wall surrounding it. The Captain did not mind any of that mess. He would not mind bringing the whole house down, if necessary. All he wanted was the Bösendorfer out of his sight._"(1)

Would he want the piano back where it belonged now?

How many doors and windows would be willing to break this time in order to finally have music fully back in the house? Would what she had accomplished be enough, not only to bring music back, but to bring a father to his children as well? How many of his own strict rules he would have to willingly break before that happened?

"_When the Lord closes a door…_" she started to quote the Reverend Mother, but he stopped her.

"Fraulein." She looked at him again, the look in his eyes more than enough to render her speechless. "I _want_ you to stay," he smiled contritely. "I _ask_ you to stay."

It took her a few seconds to fully process what he had just said, and to convince herself that he had actually _said_ it.

_I want you to stay. I ask you to stay_…

Those words would follow her for the months to come. There would not be a day when she would not remember them. There would not be a night she would not dream about the moment when he said them. Words that would haunt her, but also, in the end, give her hope. Finally, although it would be weeks before she realized it, words that had been the first indication that a new window had finally opened itself for her.

"If I could be of any help," she said, her hands gripping the banister once more, feeling the solid wood beneath her fingers convince her that she was indeed awake.

"_Oh Lord, please, let me stay,_" she prayed inwardly.

_He wanted her to stay. He asked her to stay._

"You have already. More than you know." Their eyes met again. "But…"

Maria felt apprehensive again. There always had to be a "_but_" with him. She decided to speak up before he said anything else.

"I'll try to live by your rules from now on. I'll try, I promise I will!"

He smirked.

"Fräulein, I was under the impression that young postulants such as yourself were taught at the Abbey not to make promises they certainly will not be able to keep. That is one rule that _I_ certainly live by. I never break a promise," he said, his eyes unbearably intense.

Yes, he had a point, hadn't he? If he indeed allowed her to stay, he knew as well as she knew that in less than one day, she would be finding a way to defy him, in spite of herself. His behavior was still puzzling – she simply could not read what was going on in his mind. He wasn't angry, he wasn't mocking her. It was almost like if he _admired_ her stubbornness.

He took a few steps forward. She thought he was going to climb up the stairs to meet her halfway, but he simply rested his right leg in the first step.

"_And_ since both of us obviously take our promises very seriously, I _must_ tell you that I too, shall try."

Her eyes widened.

"I am not sure I follow you, Captain."

"Oh yes, you do, _Fräulein_. You follow me perfectly." His look was meaningful enough to let her understand the rest of his message. He would not allow her to do as she pleased, to break all the rules concerning the running of the household and the children's upbringing all at once. After all, he was still _the Captain_, the head of the house. His word was still the law within the grounds of the Trapp villa, just as it once was in the strict confines of his U-boats. If she wanted to make changes, she would have to convince him first that they were necessary.

Oh, that would be tiring. Maria immediately concluded that she would have to prepare herself for at least one battle of day. It was something that she would not mind – on the contrary, something that she would look forward to. Not only it would be for a very good cause – he was certainly a worthy opponent.

"I see that you understood my message," he added, ironically. "Yes, you _are_ staying until September. I'll be honest; I am not sure if it is even wise of me to ask you to stay, but for some reason I _want_ you to stay. I need you to." His voice, which had softened when he said the last few words, hardened again. "However, I would very appreciate if you tried to control the amount of – uh - chaos _you_ bring into this house." She swallowed. "I am having dinner in town with my guests tonight," he informed. "I am expecting you in my study tomorrow, at 10 in the morning, so that we can start discussing about my children's musical education - or lamentable lack thereof. Try not to be late, will you please?"

She nodded. "Very well, Captain! I'll see about the children and their dinner now."

With a gentlemanly bow and a quick, half smile, the Captain strode back to the drawing room.

There – it was done.

Her sigh of relief was audible – in fact, she wanted to shout her feelings. Instead, she merely clasped her hands, and smiled. Looking heavenward, she thanked the Lord.

She was staying. She passed the test – she was officially a _governess_ now. Oh, she already had a million ideas dancing around her head, about what to do with the children for the next couple of months.

"_When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window,_" she chanted, skipping as she made her way to the nursery.

_**End of Part I of "The Sound of Music Chronicles"**_

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><em>AN: (1) Bösendorfer is considered to be one of the eldest piano manufacturers in the world. The company was founded in Austria, in 1828. _


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